Fine is a Four Letter Word
by secretchild
Summary: When Tony collapses while pursuing a suspect, he insists it's just the flu. Things are never that simple. Abby/Tony friendship,Tony/Gibbs father/son. Gen, friendship/family with a healthy dose of angst. Set early season 5. Rated T for language. Complete!
1. Surveillance

_A/N: This is my first fanfic; I've been writing regular fiction for years, but had this story floating around in my head and wanted to give it a shot. Fanfic is turning out to be MUCH harder to write than I thought!_

_Advice, especially on staying in character, is welcome. I'm sure I'll end up stretching things with the medical stuff, but I'm doing my research and I'll try to be as realistic as possible._

_Needless to say, all things NCIS are the property of people much cooler than me._

* * *

Anthony DiNozzo had little use for doctors. Aside from the occasional gunshot wound or touch of pneumonic plague, everything could pretty much be categorized as a sprain or a virus, and Tony didn't need a doctor to tell him that. "I'm just tired," he mumbled, peering at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Pale, sweaty face, bloodshot eyes. "It's 3 AM. Nobody looks good at 3 AM." He leaned over and splashed cool water on his face, trying to stop shaking.

_You have a fever_, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. He ignored it, as he did every night. How long had this been going on? A few weeks, at least. He leaned against the sink, trying to remember the first night he'd woken, drenched in sweat and sick to his stomach, feeling like the room was spinning even with his eyes closed. How long had it been since he'd had a good night's sleep? _At least..._well, awhile, anyway. _You're tired_, he told himself firmly. _We're working a tough case. Suck it up.  
_

He left the bathroom on unsteady legs and looked at his bed. The sheets were tangled and still damp with sweat, and the thought of crawling back into it sent another wave of chills over his body. The couch would have to do.

It took him nearly an hour to get back to sleep, and by the time the alarm on his watch went off at 6 a.m., he was dead to the world.

* * *

"Tony! There you are!" McGee looked up as Tony made his way into the bullpen the next morning. "Where have you been?"

"Chill, Probie," Tony said, dumping his bag on his chair. "I know, I'm late, I'm sorry. Gibbs isn't here yet, is he? What's the big deal?"

"Gibbs isn't here because we were supposed to relieve him and Ziva an hour ago."

"Relieve...crap. Surveillance." Any hope Tony had of sneaking in unnoticed had just gone out the window. "I thought we weren't on until noon," he said, trying to sound genuinely confused. Better than saying _Sorry, I woke up late and it took a half hour to talk myself off the couch. _"Gibbs is probably pretty pissed, huh?"

"What do you think?" McGee shot him a look that he only risked when Tony had seriously screwed up. "Can we get going, please?"

Tony looked longingly at his comfy desk chair. Every muscle he had ached, and the fact that he would like nothing better then to pull a day of desk duty and paperwork made him wonder if his brain was screwed up right along with his body. "Sure," he sighed, picking his bag back up and digging out the keys. He'd go, but McGee could get them there. Maybe he could nap in the car. "Heads up!"

The keys flew towards McGee, and he turned just in time to grab them. "You want me to drive?"

"Is that a problem, Probie?"

"No, it's just...you hate when I drive."

"Well, now's your chance to show me how much you've improved." He managed an easy smile as he clapped McGee on the shoulder and strode past him to the elevator. "Are you coming?"

* * *

McGee's driving was maddeningly slow, but for once Tony was grateful for the snail's pace. He had actually managed to fall asleep for a few minutes before they pulled up behind a vacant apartment building. "Tony." McGee turned the car off and opened his door. "Come on." McGee was obviously still annoyed with him; he was already halfway up the stairs by the time Tony pulled himself out of the car, closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness. He waited a moment, steadying himself, before he hurried after McGee.

"It's about damn time," Gibbs barked as McGee entered the apartment, Tony on his heels.

"Sorry Boss," Tony said quickly before McGee could speak. "My fault. I overslept."

"Wild night, Tony?" Ziva murmured, not taking her eyes from the window that looked out across the street to the apartment that housed their target.

Tony forced a laugh. "Not exactly, David. Probably better than yours, though."

"Really, DiNozzo?" Gibbs turned, ready to give his senior field agent a thorough chewing out, but stopped when he caught sight of Tony's pale face. Instead, he bent and started gathering the papers spread out around him. "David, go and get the car while I brief these two. I'll be down in five." Ziva nodded, and McGee moved in to take her place at the window as she left.

"There's not much to tell you," Gibbs said, picking up his stack of paper. "Two phone calls, one to his mother and one to a Jan Cerny. Abby's running the name for us now, but there wasn't much we could tell from Andersen's side of the conversation. The calls are on the tape, though; McGee, give them a listen and run them through your system to see what you pick up."

"Got it, Boss," McGee said. "Tony, can you take watch?"

"Sure," Tony started over to the window, but Gibbs stopped him with a firm hand on his arm.

"Just a minute, DiNozzo. I want to talk to you. Outside."

_Shit_. He knew Gibbs wouldn't let him off so easily. He followed his boss out the door and into the rundown hallway. "I'm sorry -"

"Save it," Gibbs cut him off, but his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Are you OK?"

Taken aback, Tony almost blurted out _No_, but he caught himself. "I'm fine, Boss."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure - why?"

"Because this is the third time you've been late in the past two weeks, and you look like you haven't slept in a month. You want to tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Nothing, Boss, honestly. Everything's fine. Better than fine, actually. If you know what I mean."

Despite Tony's best attempt at a lascivious grin, Gibbs gave him a look that clearly said _I don't believe you. _"Alright. Go relieve McGee, then. Call me if things start to move."

"Will do." Tony escaped back into the apartment before Gibbs could ask any more questions that he couldn't answer.

* * *

Surveillance, as usual, was a whole lot of hurry-up-and-wait. While McGee analyzed the phone calls, Tony took an extended turn watching out the window and tried not to fall asleep. Normally he would have joked with - well, tormented - McGee, but he didn't have the energy. The fact that McGee had a set of headphones glued to his ears made his silence much less conspicuous. Abby called in at one point to report that Jan Cerny was either a Czech arms dealer or a former Naval petty officer who currently managed a Waffle House in Orlando. All else being equal, the consensus was to go with arms dealer.

After about three hours, McGee pulled the headphones off and dropped them to the table, rubbing his eyes. "That's it."

"Anything?" Tony asked.

"I can't tell. The conversation itself was almost certainly in code, but we expected that. There were some background noises on Cerny's end that may have been a plane, but I couldn't get more detailed - the sound was too broken to get enough to identify the type, even when isolating the frequencies." He sat back, rubbing his eyes again. "Some of those frequencies were not meant to be heard for long periods of time. My head is killing me."

"Take an aspirin. You want a turn over here?"

"Sure. I made transcripts of the calls; maybe you can take a look, see if there's anything I missed."

After reading the transcripts twice, though, Tony wasn't any closer to making sense out of them than McGee. He tried to force himself to think. There was a piece missing somewhere...if he could just get his mind to focus...

Three weeks of surveillance on Andersen had led them down nothing but dead ends, and the entire team was growing frustrated. Everything was riding on a series of anonymous phone calls and three dead Marines. Each had worked at the armory at Quantico; each had access to some of the most advanced weaponry the U.S. military possessed; each had been murdered while on guard duty by a single gunshot wound to the back of the head after a convenient security camera "malfunction". The only connection between the three was Robert Andersen, who had been on duty on the other side of the base during each of the murders and, according to others on his shifts, had never left his post.

It should have been simple enough to bring Andersen in for questioning, but the phone calls added a new dimension. The oddest thing about the case was that nothing had actually been missing from the armory. Instead things had simply been moved - not trashed, but rearranged neatly in ways which the caller was able to accurately describe despite the information not having been released. The first call came immediately after the first murder, and simply said "Nothing is missing, but do not assume nothing has been taken." Andersen's name came after the second murder, and the most recent call informed them that Andersen would be meeting with his contact "soon." Nothing about who the contact was, why they were meeting, or what was to take place. Tony was starting to feel like a puppet; they were being fed bits of information by someone who was clearly involved in some manner and seemed to want nothing but to watch them all jump. Yet the danger inherent in the repeated security breaches was too high to risk ignoring him.

Tony sighed. "Take a break, McGee. I'm not getting anywhere over here. Find some lunch or something."

"I can wait, Tony, if you want to go."

"Nah, go ahead. I haven't looked out the window in almost twenty minutes. I'm starting to forget the pattern on the drapes in 2B."

As annoyed as he still was with Tony, McGee couldn't help smiling. "I'll bring something back. What do you want?"

The thought of food brought back the nausea that had been lingering all morning. "Nothing," he said shortly.

"Nothing?"

"No, I'm good. Take your time."

"Tony, you haven't eaten all morning. By now you'd usually be halfway through a pizza."

"I had a big breakfast, McGee. Just go, OK? I'll get something later."

Tony started to take McGee's chair, but a slight movement at the corner of his eye drew his attention. "Hang on." He picked up the binoculars for a closer look, and saw the draperies in Andersen's apartment move again, as if blown by a puff of air. "That could have been a door closing." McGee joined him at the window, and a moment later the front door to the apartment building opened and a nondescript man wearing a stocking cap came out. "That's him," Tony called, already halfway to the door. "Let's go, McGee."

The two men headed to their preassigned posts; Tony on foot, blending in as well as possible in the sparse population on the sidewalk, and McGee in the car around the corner, ready to move in. Tony kept his phone to his ear, updating McGee as he walked; as long as he didn't speak too loudly, the phone was an excellent aid in appearing oblivious to his surroundings.

"He's heading south, about two blocks ahead of me." Tony murmured, then, more loudly, "You're shitting me!"

"I'm shitting you about what?" McGee said, sounding confused, and Tony stifled a sigh. McGee was great with computers, but human interaction sure threw him for a loop sometimes.

"C'mon," he said. "You know what I'm talking about!"

"No, I don't - oh." McGee sounded abashed. "You're blending."

"Now you're getting it!" Tony said, then laughed as though McGee had said something amusing.

"Thanks for the lesson. Where is he."

"Still two blocks up."

"Does he seem suspicious? Looking over his shoulder or anything?"

"A couple of times. Pretty quiet, though." He paused as Andersen glanced over his shoulder again. Tony couldn't tell if Andersen saw him or if he was just spooked, but suddenly the man broke into a dead run. Tony took off after him. "He's running - pull out at 7th, try to cut him off."

A surge of adrenaline overrode the weariness in Tony's limbs, but it didn't last long. He only made it a couple of blocks before his chest began to tighten. _Keep going! _Half a block more. One block. One more...

Finally Tony was forced to stop. He leaned over, trying desperately to catch his breath. "Is he still running?" McGee said in his ear, but Tony couldn't answer. All his energy was focused on a futile effort to get air into his lungs. Black spots played at the edges of his field of vision, and he fell to his knees as his legs refused to support him anymore. "Tony? Tony!" McGee's voice seemed a long way off.

The phone tumbled from his hand, and he heard car wheels squealing around the corner as darkness closed in.


	2. Falling

_A/N: Wow - thank you all for the reviews! I feel very encouraged. :-) Here's the next installment. Feedback, as always, is very welcome._

_I still don't own NCIS. I checked eBay, but no luck._

_

* * *

_

_Can't stop what's coming  
Can't stop what is on its way_

_ - Tori Amos, "Bells for Her"_

* * *

When Tony first woke, he was aware of little save an incessant beeping noise and the feel of a small, cool hand in his. He lay for a moment, letting consciousness return slowly, trying to figure out where he was, how he'd gotten there, and what the hell was beeping in his ear. _Surveillance... Andersen leaving...running...couldn't breathe..._ His heart sank as the memories returned. _And I went down. You idiot!_ His eyes flew open, which quickly proved to be a bad idea, and he squeezed them shut again with a wince. The fluorescent lights felt like they were stabbing straight into his skull, and that was enough to bring him fully awake - and fully cognizant of exactly how much everything hurt.

An overhead page requesting the immediate presence of doctor something-or-other confirmed his suspicions. The hospital, then, most likely the ER. Tony cursed silently. Trying not to move, he took stock of his surroundings. He could feel a slight pinch in his arm, probably an IV. The oxygen cannula in his nose had become very familiar when he had the plague; he hated to admit he was grateful for it today. Breathing seemed to be much easier. The beeping was probably some sort of monitor. If he shifted he could probably feel the leads attached to his body, but moving didn't seem like the best course of action. Instead, he risked opening his eyes again, slowly this time. He blinked several times, trying to adjust to the light, and finally his vision cleared enough to see the owner of the hand.

Abby was sitting next to his bed, fiddling with a pigtail. "I don't know, they've been working so hard lately," she was saying, chewing her bottom lip and looking at someone Tony couldn't see. "What if something's really wrong?"

"Abby?" The word came out as a croak, and he coughed, trying to clear his throat.

"Tony! You're awake!!" Abby squealed, jumping up and leaning over to throw her arms around him.

"Ow." Tony grimaced as she bumped the IV taped to his elbow, but he reached his free arm up and gave her a half-hug in return.

"Sorry, Tony, it's just - I was so worried - _we _were so worried - Gibbs, he's awake!" So it was Gibbs she'd been talking to. Shifting his gaze, Tony could just see him sitting on a chair in the corner, looking as if he'd settled in for the long haul. "Everyone else is out in the waiting room, they'd only let two of us in at once so we've been taking turns, well everyone except Gibbs, he's been here the whole time. How are you feeling?"

"How..." Tony rasped. Gibbs came over and silently handed him a cup of water from the table beside the bed. Tony sipped gratefully from the straw and tried again. "How long have I been here?"

"About two hours, DiNozzo." Gibbs was watching him with a look Tony couldn't quite read. "How _are_ you feeling?"

Tony thought about it. "I don't know. Tired. Head hurts."

Gibbs nodded. "Tends to happen when you crack it against the sidewalk. Abby, why don't you go let the others know he's awake?"

"Sure, Gibbs." She gave Tony another hug, more carefully this time. "I'll be back soon, OK?" She squeezed his hand and ducked through the curtain out of the cubicle. Tony could hear her platform heels clattering down the hallway.

Gibbs took her spot, settling into the chair beside the bed. He reached out and adjusted the tube to the cannula in Tony's nose, but said nothing, and Tony was too exhausted to guess what he was thinking. "I guess we lost him, huh."

"Yes, we did."

"And I blew our cover."

"Yes."

Tony wanted to scream. After all the weeks of watching, waiting, when they'd finally had a chance to actually get some concrete information, he'd blown the whole thing. "I'm sorry, Boss. I know, I screwed up." Gibbs was silent, and Tony continued. "If I hadn't been so tired, if I'd been able to keep up -"

"Whoa, now wait just a damn minute. You think you screwed up by passing out?"

"I _did_."

"You're right, DiNozzo, you screwed up, but not because you were sick." Gibbs sounded thoroughly exasperated, and he ignored Tony's weak protests. "You screwed up by not telling me what was going on. I asked you specifically if you were alright, and you assured me you were."

"Yeah." Tony swallowed hard. "I know."

"Twice."

"Yeah."

Gibbs jaw was tight and he was clearly trying to control his anger. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"I'm not -" The look on Gibbs' face stopped him cold. "I really thought I would be alright. It's just a stupid bug."

"You're a doctor now, DiNozzo? Did I miss your graduation from medical school?"

Tony shook his head mutely.

"Bug or not, doesn't matter - you pull this kind of thing again and you will be riding a desk for a month. Got it?"

"Yes, Boss."

Gibbs looked as if he had more to say, plenty more, but the curtain was pulled back and a nurse bustled in pushing a cart full of tubes, trays, and some things Tony guessed he didn't want to think about. "Mr. DiNozzo, it's good to see you awake!" The nurse's cheery voice was just a little too loud, a little too perky, and Tony gritted his teeth. "Now, the doctor will be in to see you shortly, but first I need a little bit of blood. Oh, and a urine sample, but let's get this blood drawn first."

Tony gave Gibbs a mortified look, which earned him nothing but a knowing _you asked for it_ half-smile in return as the nurse tied a tourniquet around the younger man's free arm and slid the needle in before he could blink. "Now, just hold still for me here...there we go."

"Gibbs!" Abby poked her head around the corner. Her eyes lit on the nurse and the needle. "Oh, sorry," she said, skidding to a stop.

"It's alright, I'm nearly finished here," the nurse replied. She slipped the final vial off the needle and pulled it out gently, slipping a piece of gauze in its place. "You just hold that right there while I get these ready for the lab, and I'll be right back for the other, OK?" She gave him a pat on the head before she left, and now Tony _knew_ Gibbs was trying not to laugh.

"Gibbs, there's another body. Ziva and McGee got the call just after I went out there. Same place, same MO. They've already left, but I told them I'd let you know. Tony, Ziva says she will be back to see you later, and McGee says he's glad you're OK and that you're an idiot for not telling him you weren't feeling well."

"He's only saying that because he knows I can't smack him," Tony grumbled. Another body. One that might have been prevented if he hadn't let Andersen escape. "You guys had better go."

Gibbs was already pulling on his jacket. "Sure you don't want us to stick around for the urine sample?"

"Funny, Boss." Tony glared at him, but Gibbs had his phone out of his pocket and was hitting the speed dial. He put a warm hand on Tony's shoulder as he left, and wasn't two steps down the hall before Tony heard him barking "What've we got, McGee?"

"We'll be back later, Tony, I promise," Abby said. She bent and gave him a kiss on the forehead before following Gibbs down the hall.

Finally alone, Tony let his head drop back onto the pillow and tried not to sink into the blackness that still swam at the edges of his vision. He hadn't lied to Gibbs - he _was_ tired and sore - but it was more than that, an exhaustion that seemed to reach into his bones, and along with it, a feeling that something was very wrong. He pushed the sensation to the back of his mind. He was sick, no big deal. A flu bug, probably, combined with long hours and exacerbated by the scarring in his lungs, his lingering souvenir of the pneumonic plague. As much as he hated to admit it, he was always hit a little harder by any kind of respiratory infection because of that scarring. This time was a little different, perhaps, as he hadn't experienced the usual wracking cough that came with such an infection, but it certainly explained the shortness of breath and why he went down so fast.

Forcing himself to be satisfied with that explanation, Tony struggled to sit up, propping himself against the pillows. He knew he'd have to take it a bit easier for a few weeks - Gibbs wouldn't give him any other option - but he'd worked through the flu before, and he could do it again. A week at a desk wouldn't be the end of the world, and after that, he could probably sweet-talk his way back into the field.

The curtain rattled, and the same cheerful nurse came back, this time holding only a specimen cup. "Ready for that sample, Mr. DiNozzo?"

"Tony," he said, trying to give her his most charming smile. Like hell he was going to piss in a cup in the middle of the ER. "Could it wait? I don't really have to, well..."

"Can you try? We really need that sample; I suppose we could always try a straight-cath..."

Tony paled. "Let me see what I can come up with."

"I'll give you some privacy," the nurse said sweetly. Tony was pretty sure he'd just been had.

* * *

Three hours later, Tony had been thoroughly poked, prodded, and pinched between a series of naps. He'd also given at least three different people his medical history and symptoms, most of which he simply distilled to "tired." He was drowsing when he heard the curtain pulled back yet again. Despite Nurse Perky's best intentions, privacy really was not an option in the ER. "Anthony DiNozzo?"

"Mmmph." He considered just trying to go back to sleep, but when the deep voice introduced himself as Dr. Dries, he forced his eyes open. A tall, bearded man in a white coat stood at the end of the bed. "You're really the doctor? Not a nurse or a student or...I think I saw some guy they grabbed from the cafeteria at one point..."

Dr. Dries chuckled. "Yes, I'm really the doctor. I'm sorry for the wait; it's been a bit of a zoo out there today."

"No, it's fine." Tony pulled himself into a sitting position. "And I'm Tony - you don't have to call me Anthony." Only Ducky got away with that.

"Tony, then. I have some of the preliminary blood tests back, but I also want to fill in some of these gaps in your chart. Am I reading this correctly - you had the pneumonic plague three years ago?"

"It's right. Happened on one of our cases. I'm fine, now though, except for some scarring on my lungs."

"Well, that certainly could explain part of the decreased respiratory function and low pulse ox. Tell me how you've been feeling recently, please."

He wanted to lie. It would be all too easy to tell Dries he had been feeling perfectly fine, he'd just gotten overheated or he was short on sleep or some simple explanation. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do it, and not just because he knew Gibbs would have his ass if he did. He sighed, and said, "Pretty much what I told the others. Tired, kind of like I have the flu."

"Any sneezing, coughing, other respiratory symptoms?"

"Nothing aside from being a little short of breath."

"And how long has that been going on?"

"A few weeks, I guess. Maybe a month. It happens sometimes. No big deal."

Dr. Dries nodded and made a note on his clipboard. "Your chart indicates that you had a fever of 101 when you were admitted. Have you been experiencing fevers recently?"

"I don't know. I don't have a thermometer."

"What do you think?"

Tony shrugged. "Maybe. Could be why I'm waking up hot so much," he said, half to himself.

"You've had trouble sleeping?"

_Shit. Shut up, Tony._ "Uh, not really. Sometimes I'll wake up kind of hot, sweaty. We've been working odd hours, though - lots of surveillance, stuff like that. My sleep schedule's just a little screwed up."

Another note on the chart. "OK. Anything we've missed? Any dizziness, nausea?"

He shrugged again. "A little." _A lot_. Part of him wanted to elaborate, explain to the doctor exactly how horrible he'd felt, how his limbs were like lead weights and sometimes he felt so weak he could hardly stand up. How he'd been waking every single night drenched in sweat and certain he was about to be sick. But he _wasn't_ weak, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start whining. Honesty had its limits. Better just to give direct answers and leave it there.

"Weight loss?"

Tony remembered moving in yet another notch in on his belt that morning. "I guess. I haven't been very hungry. Probably just stress."

One more note. "That about does it. Let me do a quick physical exam, and then we'll chat." He set the chart down, and Tony endured yet another round of pokes and prods. "You have some pretty swollen glands here. Lay back down, please."

Finally finished, the doctor peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the garbage. "Alright. Here's the deal." He pulled a stool over and sat so he was eye level with Tony. "You may be right. This could be just the flu, made worse by overwork and the damage to your lungs."

"I hear a 'but' coming."

"To be frank, I'm concerned about your initial blood work. Your white blood cell count is elevated, but there's also some depression of your red blood cells."

"White blood cells." Tony tried to think back to his college biology class. "Doesn't that just mean some kind of infection?"

"Generally, but there are a number of other considerations. Considering the swelling in some of your lymph nodes, I'd like to go ahead and admit you for some additional tests."

"What?" Tony sat up straight. "Why? You said it was just the flu!"

"I said it _could_ be the flu. We need to be sure it's nothing more than that."

Tony felt panic rising, and tried to stifle it. "What else could it be?"

"Any number of things, Tony - that's precisely my point. It's too early to start speculating until we have more information."

"Couldn't I do this as an outpatient? I'm not exactly a big fan of hospitals."

"I'd be worried if you were." Dr. Dries said dryly. "If we do them while you're inpatient, though, we can get them done much more quickly, especially since you're already here. We should know something in the next day or two. And the faster we know what's going on, the faster we can get you home. Deal?"

"Fine. A couple of days," Tony capitulated. The familiar tiredness was washing over him again, and all he really wanted to do was be in a bed, asleep. The location of said bed was negotiable. "And when it _does_ end up being the flu, I'm so going to say 'I told you so.'"

"I look forward to it." Dr. Dries smiled again and stood to leave. "One of the nurses will be in soon to get you moved upstairs."

Tony was already asleep when the curtain fell shut.


	3. Waiting

_And every word is nonsense but I understand and,  
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing_

_-Counting Crows, "Anna Begins"_

_

* * *

_

For Tony, the next 24 hours were full of needles, scans, x-rays, and enough blood draws to excite the most diehard Twilight fan. Yet they still had no definitive answers, just a long list of what was not wrong. By the following afternoon, he was ready to climb the walls. He hated feeling useless; he knew the entire team was up to their eyeballs in work, and being stuck in a hospital room doing nothing but waiting grated on his nerves. Equally as frustrating was the fact that, despite more sleep than he remembered getting in weeks, he still felt completely drained. Secretly, he was almost relieved that he couldn't be in the field for awhile, that he didn't have to force himself to keep going.

Almost.

He'd been by himself since Gibbs and Abby had left the previous day. He understood, of course he understood. There was so much to be done and they were shorthanded, and _he_ was the reason they were shorthanded. Whether or not it was his fault was apparently up for debate. Considering that he was one of the few people who could match Gibbs in stubbornness, though, actually pressing the question would be worse than pointless. Even so, the fact remained that the team was one man down. And yet...during those hazy moments before and after sleep, when his rational mind was out of commission, there was a part of him that wished he wasn't alone.

He was staring blankly out the window at the gray afternoon when there was a knock at his door. "Tony? You awake?"

It was McGee and Abby, and Tony gave himself a mental nudge. _Act normal._ "McGoo! Please tell me you brought a rope, or a cake with a file in it or something. I'm going crazy here."

"No such luck, Tony. I brought you Abby, though, does that help?" The two filed into the room; McGee seemed hesitant, uncertain, but Abby flew over to give him her usual hug, though he could tell she was a bit more gentle than usual.

"Sure does. Hey, you missed it, Abs! You could have watched them stab a needle into my armpit." Tony grinned at Abby's faintly disappointed look. Their favorite lab rat was the only person he knew whose eyes would light up at such a prospect. "Next time, OK?"

"No next times." Abby plopped on the bed beside him. "What was the biopsy for?"

"Lymph nodes. Apparently they're swollen." Abby's brow furrowed, and Tony inwardly cursed his loose tongue. Despite her demeanor, Abby was a scientist, first and foremost. He usually didn't forget that so easily. At least he hadn't mentioned the needle in his hip, which had been one of the most painful things he'd ever experienced. Plague included.

"That's not a good thing, Tony," Abby began, but he cut her off.

"At least I'm leaving soon. They're running out of things to stick me with."

"Awesome! When?"

"Tonight or tomorrow, probably." His easy tone belied Tony's frustration. Trying to distract them, he said to McGee, "Catch me up with what's been going on."

"Gibbs and Ziva are still stuck out at Quantico processing evidence, and Ducky's in autopsy." McGee sounded slightly embarrassed. "They...they wanted to be here, Tony. They really did."

"To do what, watch me sleep? What's happening with the case?"

He wanted to know, but his mind still wandered as McGee brought him up to date. Gibbs had told him over the phone the night before that the Quantico armory had finally been shut down, which Tony thought should have happened long ago. Aside from that, the crime scene was nearly identical to the others. Different equipment scattered around, different dead marine but otherwise a carbon copy. Tony wished there had been something out of the ordinary, another phone call, something he could wrap his head around outside of what was happening to him. Because without it, he was left with too much free time to think. And that, he definitely did not need.

"Tony? You OK?"

"Huh?" Tony jumped, startled. "Sorry, McGee. Zoned out for a minute, not that your tale wasn't absolutely riveting. Guess I'm still kind of tired."

"Tony, you should have said something! You need your rest," Abby scolded. She looked at her watch. "Yikes, we need to go anyway. I told Gibbs I'd be back by 5 - they're supposed have the first batch of evidence to the lab for me to start on."

"Sounds fun."

"I know," Abby said, missing the hint of sarcasm, as Tony had known she would. "I keep thinking there's got to be something different in there, I just have to find it!"

"If anyone can find it, Abs, it's you."

She smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. "Promise you'll call when you know something. Promise?"

"I promise! Go!" She blew him a kiss as she zipped out the door, McGee calling good-bye over his shoulder as he ran to catch up.

* * *

"Let's wrap it up, Ziva," Gibbs called, emerging from the armory commander's office. "McGee and Abby should be back at the office by now." Ziva was making a final sweep of the crime scene, but her camera was put away and the slump of her shoulders told Gibbs that she was long past worn out. She and McGee had taken the brunt of this one, Ziva taking lead on processing the scene itself, and McGee reviewing the security systems for the umpteenth time looking for some kind of vulnerability. It had to exist; the camera failures were simply too convenient not to be triggered by someone or something, but nothing had turned up.

"Have you spoken to Tony?" Ziva asked, joining Gibbs at the van. He held out his hand for the keys, and she gave them to him without comment.

"Not today." He'd talked to Tony the night before, their typical to-the-point conversation. Tony was filled in on the case; Gibbs was pretty sure he _wasn't_ filled in on all that was happening with Tony. At one time he would have forced the issue, but after several years he had learned better how to handle Tony when his walls were up, and over the phone was not the way to do it. "McGee said he'd call if there was anything we needed to know."

"So they are probably still waiting for information, then."

"Probably so."

A long pause. "Are you worried?" Ziva's voice was barely audible.

"Yeah," Gibbs said quietly. "I am."

The rest of the drive was spent in silence.

* * *

McGee and Abby had been gone barely five minutes before there was another knock on the door. "Did you forget something?" Tony called out, but the visitor was Dr. Dries, accompanied by an unfamiliar woman. "Oh, hey. Sorry - it's Grand Central Station in here."

"It's no problem," the doctor said. He motioned to his companion. "Tony, this is Dr. Weiss. She's going to be taking on your case from here."

"My case." Tony felt like he'd been kicked in the chest. "So I _have _a case, then?"

"I'm afraid so," Dr. Weiss said. She came forward and sat beside him. Tony tried not to pull away. She had that _look_, the same one Tony had seen too many times in his life. Images raced through his mind. _Officer DiNozzo, I'm sorry, but your partner...So tell me, doc. What have I got? Pneumonic plague...He has some memory loss...the last fifteen years... _She could have kept her mouth shut and he would have known. He clamped down on his thoughts, forced himself to listen. "We've reviewed all of your test results, and they're conclusive. You have a form of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma called precursor T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma. It occurs when -"

"Hang on." Tony put up a hand to silence her. "Lymphoma. Cancer. You're telling me I have cancer?" He could hear his voice rising but couldn't seem to stop himself. He thought that _the look_ had prepared him, but he was wrong. Horribly, desperately wrong. "That's insane. The tests - that can't be right."

"They're right, Tony," Dr. Dries said. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could tell you differently."

"They have to be wrong." Tony felt like the room was spinning around him as he tried to reconcile what he was being told with something resembling reality. It wasn't working and he felt, insanely, as though he might start to laugh.

"Tony, is there someone you can call?" Dr. Weiss put a hand over his, her voice seeming to come from far away. "It might help to have someone here right now. Your family, maybe?"

"No," Tony said shortly, pulling his hand back. Family was out of the question, and he wasn't near ready to pull anyone else into this. "No, it's fine. So, that would make you an oncologist, then?"

"That's right." He nodded, which she took as assent to continue.

Tony simply sat, his head buzzing, while she talked on and on, about T-lymphocytes and stages and grades and lymph node involvement and LDH levels and God knew what else. A few bits made it through the haze. He was in stage 3B, whatever the hell that meant. There was a tumor in his chest. The cancer hadn't spread to his bone marrow. Suddenly, he realized that the room was silent, and both doctors were watching him carefully.

"Sorry. I missed that last part."

Dr. Weiss smiled. "I just asked if you had any questions. This is a lot to digest."

He had about a million, the most pressing one being _How the HELL did this happen? _Tony knew, though, that even if he grasped everything that he had just been told, he wouldn't be any closer to the answers. "What...what happens now?

"Since there is a larger tumor in your chest, we'll need to combine radiation and chemotherapy. The radiation will be specifically targeted at the mediastinal region, and that will begin tomorrow - "

"Tomorrow?" Tony cut her off. "Already?"

"The sooner we start, the better. We can get you down to radiology first thing in the morning. We'll give that a few days to see how you tolerate it before beginning chemotherapy. It will be administered through a port implanted in your chest, and we'll be using a regimen known as CHOP, combining cyclophosphamide, doxorubicin, vincristine, and prednisone. That's the standard treatment for this type of lymphoma and is often quite successful. However, depending on your body's response we may need to look at adding medications or trying a different drug combination. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, though."

Tony drew a deep breath, fighting the temptation to ask her to speak something resembling English. His mind was swimming with all the information that had been thrown at him, and a tiny part of him wished he _had_ called someone, McGee or Ducky or something, just to help him keep it all straight. _Can I be excused? My brain is full. _"How long does all this take?"

"Radiation is usually done 5 days a week for as long as needed to see the desired reduction in the tumor. Chemotherapy is generally conducted in cycles of 4 weeks for up to 6 cycles. Again, though all of this is entirely dependent upon the body's response."

"I can still leave tomorrow, though, right? I can do this outpatient?" Tony had no intention of spending a minute longer than necessary in the hospital. He'd be damned if he was going to tell his teammates that he...that something was wrong while lying here like an invalid. That was not how he handled things. He would go home and he would keep going and he would just deal with everything as it came. Not lie around and wait.

"It's possible, technically," Dr. Weiss said, exchanging glances with Dr. Dries. "For the radiation it shouldn't be a problem. But I would strongly advise that you be admitted when we begin chemotherapy, at least for the several days until we determine how well you tolerate the medication. That's our normal protocol."

"You don't understand - I _have _to get back, I've already been out two days, and this case, we need everyone..."

"Tony." Dr. Weiss laid down her clipboard and fixed him with a level gaze. Her no-nonsense expression softened as she looked at the young man's face. Tony was trying to stay calm, but the doctor could see the panic just beneath the surface. "I need you to understand how serious this is. Your work can and will wait. The most important thing right now is starting treatment and getting you into remission. Lymphoblastic lymphoma is a highly aggressive disease, and we need to be just as aggressive in your treatment. Every day we wait makes a difference." Tony nodded slowly. "These medications can have serious side effects. Fatigue, weakness, nausea, a host of other possible problems, and your energy needs to be focused on your health. I'll be blunt - you will likely not be able to work while you're starting treatment."

"But it is possible for me to go home at least, isn't it?"

Dr. Weiss sighed and leaned back in her chair. "We can try it, Tony, but again, I have to tell you that this is not best option."

"OK, fine," Tony said. "I still want to try."

"Will you have someone to help you at home?"

"Sure." _Whatever_.

They left a few minutes later, after confirming his radiation session in the morning and exchanging the usual 'chin-up, kid' sort of crap that Tony smiled at and agreed to and hoped they wouldn't notice his hands clenched, nails digging into his palms. Then he let his head fall back on his pillow and resumed staring out the window at the darkening sky.

The phone rang a few times that evening, but he ignored it, hoping everyone would think he was asleep. He was well prepared to pretend to be out cold if anyone showed up, but by 9:00, when the nurse injected something into his IV that he strongly suspected was meant to knock him out, no one had come. His ruse had apparently worked; as Tony drifted off, he couldn't decide if he was glad or not.

* * *

Gibbs slipped into Tony's room just after 11:00. His senior field agent appeared to be sleeping soundly, and he eased silently into the chair beside the bed so as not to wake him. To the casual observer Tony may have appeared relaxed, peaceful even, but Gibbs knew him well enough to see the lines of strain around his mouth and the tension in his shoulders. He didn't seem to be hurting; his body didn't have the characteristic tautness of someone unconsciously fighting pain. But he certainly wasn't peaceful.

_What the hell is going on with you, Tony? _Gibbs glanced up at the empty rack beside the door. He would have had no problem reading Tony's chart - he'd done it plenty of times before - but he figured that trying to dig it out of a pile at the nurses' station would probably draw a little more attention to himself then he'd prefer.

Instead, he reached out and picked up Tony's hand, still curled into a fist. He uncurled the fingers gently and placed the hand back at Tony's side. Then he leaned back in the chair, and settled in for the night.

* * *

_Edited 5/11/2010: This is very, very late on the draw, but a comment made me start musing on this. As I've said, I'm not a medical professional. In writing this story, I came to realize how amazing the work they do truly is. It takes someone very special to deal with heartbreaking realities on a daily basis. My deepest thanks to all of you, for what little it's worth._


	4. Smile

_A/N: I didn't get nearly as far in this chapter as I'd planned; apparently I'm more wordy than I realized. :-) This seemed like a good stopping point, though, and I'll try to get the next chapter up really soon. Thank you for all the reviews - you have no idea how much I appreciate them!_

* * *

_So what, so I've got a smile on  
It's hiding the quiet superstitions in my head  
don't believe me  
don't believe me  
when I say I've got it down_

_-John Mayer, "Why Georgia"_

_

* * *

_  
Gibbs was gone by the time Tony woke the next morning. He had intended to stay until Tony was up - and until they got some answers - but an early morning call from the SecNav office politely demanding his immediate presence in MTAC effectively killed that plan. He entertained a brief fantasy of telling the man to go to hell, that he had more pressing concerns. However, getting himself drummed out of NCIS wouldn't exactly help Tony. _Pick your battles_, Gibbs reminded himself, and refused to let his mind continue to the next logical thought: _There may be bigger ones coming._

There was still the possibility that the news they were waiting for was innocuous, just as Tony had predicted. And as much as his gut told him otherwise, his head really liked that idea right now. He left the room as quietly as he'd arrived, leaving only the duffel bag of clothing he'd brought for Tony. The morning nurse at the desk, who had just come on duty, glanced up as he passed. "Excuse me, sir? I'm sorry, but you can't be up here right now!"

"Tell him I'll be back later," Gibbs called over his shoulder as he headed for the stairwell.

"Tell who you'll be back later? Who _are_ you?" The nurse was left addressing an empty hallway.

* * *

The night before, Tony had gone to sleep still wondering how the hell all of this had happened. This morning, though, the question had shifted to a much more immediate concern: _What now?_ He knew he would have to call someone soon, or the simple fact of his silence would raise far more questions than he was willing to answer.

The way Tony saw it, he had three options. Option 1: He could tell everyone now. The problem with Option 1 was that he had absolutely no idea what to say. _I'm fine, just some lympho-thing that's trying to eat me alive. Y'know, like the Blob? _Or maybe, _Hey Abby, I never asked - was your coffin custom-made? Cause I might be in the market. _He tried to think of some movie, some kitschy line of dialog he could steal, but kept coming up blank. Besides, any movie like that would probably end with some ridiculously melodramatic scene where the hero dies tragically in his beloved's arms, and wouldn't be something he'd want to watch anyway.

Option 2: He could simply say nothing, tell everyone that it was a personal issue, that it was being taken care of, and that they shouldn't worry. He actually laughed out loud at that idea. The only person he could intimidate enough to get away with that one was McGee. Gibbs, Abby, Ziva, even Ducky would have him talking in five flat. Well, maybe not Ducky. If he got distracted with a story or four, it might take all of ten minutes before he had the truth out of Tony.

Then, there was Option 3: He could lie through his teeth.

Option 3 it was.

By the time the techs arrived to take him down to radiology, he'd already called McGee. He'd cheerfully passed on the news that he had been right all along, thank you very much; that it was just a damn virus, albeit a nasty one; and that he would be sprung that afternoon. He spoke quickly, in his best annoyed-yet-amused-Tony voice, grumbled a little about being locked up for no good reason, and told McGee to make sure he put his stapler back on his desk ("I'm serious McGee, if I find a single Cheetos-fingerprint on Mighty Mouse you are _so _dead"). All McGee managed to do was ask what time Tony could leave and say that someone would be there to pick him up.

Simple. Done. _Fini_.

_Shit._

* * *

Gibbs jogged down the stairs from MTAC and came by his desk just long enough to scoop up his keys. "Boss, where are you -?"

"Hospital."

"Tony just called," McGee said, trailing after Gibbs and almost running into him when he stopped short and turned.

"And when were you planning on telling me that, McGee?"

"I am. I mean, right now. He just called a minute ago."

"And?"

McGee quickly related the conversation. "He said he'd be ready to go by three. I told him one of us would be there."

"I will get him," Ziva interjected. "I'm the only one who hasn't had a chance to chew him up yet."

"Out, Ziva," McGee murmured. "Chew him out."

"Whatever." She glared at him. "I will pick Tony up and take him home. Agreed?"

"Fine by me," Gibbs said, sounding amused and heading back to his desk. He knew he'd be over at Tony's later that night anyway, most likely followed closely by Abby and possibly even Ducky.

And if Tony wasn't interested in company...well, Gibbs had a key.

* * *

Radiation was pretty much painless, just as Dr. Weiss had said. More time was spent getting everything setup and positioned correctly then actually administering the radiation. The radiology technician marked several small dots of permanent ink on his skin to assist in aiming the beam; Tony was informed by the extremely attractive tech that no, he was not permitted to a) write "you are here" underneath them, or b) turn them into bulls-eyes. "Worth a try," he grinned.

Less painless was the insertion of his Hickman catheter, which was to be used for chemo, blood draws, and nearly everything else that required a needle stick. He was given a local anesthetic, so it didn't exactly hurt, but the sensation of having a tube tunneled under his skin and placed into a vein made him feel, as Abby would say, hinky. When the whole procedure was finished, he had a small white tube protruding from his chest. Tony knew that in the long run it would be a good thing, fewer needle sticks and all that. But at that particular moment, he felt like he might as well have been wearing a sign that said "Sick" in big block letters. He fought back an urge to rip the damn thing out of his chest as he was shown how to clean and maintain the catheter.

Finally, _finally_, after another series of blood draws (because apparently, he still had some left), a meeting with Dr. Weiss to discuss his chemotherapy regimen, which was to begin the following week, and signing so many papers he wondered if he was buying a house, Tony was officially discharged. He flipped through his folder full of information sheets and discharge orders and fun booklets like "Chemotherapy and You". _Nice light bedtime reading_, he thought, cramming the folder in the bottom of the duffel bag that had mysteriously appeared in his room. Gibbs, he imagined, though he had no idea how his boss had managed it.

Tony stretched out fully clothed on top of the bed, eyes closed, trying to process the past 48 hours. If nothing else, his worn jeans and ancient Ohio State sweatshirt felt like old friends after the hospital gown, and he offered a silent thanks to Gibbs. Still, as he waited for whoever was coming to pick him up, he realized that, underneath the anger and frustration and some feelings that he flat out refused to name, he still felt like hell. Who wouldn't, he told himself, after being pricked like a pincushion for two days straight.

A jingle of keys pulled him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes a slit to see Ziva standing in the doorway, dangling car keys in the air and looking extremely pleased with herself. "Give me those," Tony growled, swinging off the bed intending to grab the keys from Ziva, then promptly staggering backwards as the room spun. Ziva was at his side immediately, steadying him with a firm hand as he sat back down. "I'm fine," he muttered.

"You do not look fine, Tony."

"I've been flat on my ass for two days, Ziva. Anyone would get a little light-headed."

"I wouldn't."

"Of course you wouldn't. Your blood goes exactly where you tell it to."

Ziva smiled. "Nice to see you, too. How are you feeling?"

"Can we just get out of here?"

"Of course." Ziva stuck her head out the door and called, "He's ready." An elderly volunteer appeared at the door pushing a wheelchair.

Tony groaned. "I don't need that. I can walk just fine."

"Hospital policy, son," the older man said in a friendly, indulgent tone. "Have a seat."

Tony did so, shooting Ziva a look that would have had McGee trembling, but Ziva only gave him a serene smile. "I hate you, Ziva," he said.

"I could leave you here, Tony."

"I love you, Ziva."

"That is what I thought."

* * *

Gibbs did end up at Tony's that night, joined by Abby and Ducky and, as it turned out, Ziva and McGee as well. Tony knew better than to think he would be left completely alone, not fresh out of the hospital when everyone seemed to think they needed to keep an eye on him. So, as far as he was concerned, the more the merrier. Less chance of being cornered or asked too many questions. He talked, and laughed, and bickered with Ziva and tormented McGee and tried very, very hard not to think about the folder buried in his duffel bag.

He figured Gibbs would be watching him closely, and he was right.

Gibbs _was _watching, and he didn't particularly like what he saw. Tony was animated, sure - too animated. He seemed almost a caricature of himself. It was clear he knew he was under scrutiny and was determined to put on his best performance. There were certain things that he simply couldn't hide, though. Instead of being all over the apartment playing host, he barely moved from his spot on the couch. His hands shook. He ate little, just sort of poked around in a bag of chips and then tossed them on the coffee table.

More than anything, what had Gibbs concerned was the look in his senior field agent's eyes. Tony looked like he was watching everything from far away. Even as he laughed and joked, it seemed like his mind was elsewhere, on something far more compelling. If asked, Tony would probably just insist, for the umpteenth time, that he was tired and anything more was Gibbs' imagination. Perhaps it was.

It was barely 9:00 when Abby said "Guys, we should really get out of here. Tony needs his sleep."

"No, it's fine!" Tony said. "Seriously, Abs, I've been sleeping for two days. You can hang around as long as you want."

Abby risked a quick glance at Gibbs, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. "No way, Tony. You need rest and relaxation and a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine...well, maybe not the bubble bath, I guess that's just me, but still. Rest!"

Ducky agreed, "Abigail is absolutely right. You may be feeling better, but you really should not push yourself."

Tony looked as though he still wanted to argue, but Gibbs put a quick stop to it. "Everyone. Out. Let's go." He didn't miss the fleeting relief on Tony's face.

Tony hauled himself off the couch to follow them to the door. "Thanks for keeping me company, guys - I know you have better things to do. Except maybe Elf Lord, but who knows. You may surprise me one day." He shot a wicked smile at McGee. "I'll see you all tomorrow, then."

Gibbs raised a brow. "Oh you will, DiNozzo?"

"Uh, yeah - sorry Boss, I meant to talk to you about that." Tony dropped his voice. "I thought I could come back tomorrow. I know, no field work, but I can at least make myself useful in the office."

"Are really up to it, Anthony?" Ducky asked. "You were just released from hospital this afternoon."

"I'll go insane sitting at home. Seriously, I really am fine. Just moving a little slow."

"Have you been released for duty?" Gibbs sounded skeptical.

"Just gotta get the papers signed." Which was true, Tony told himself. Not that anyone actually_ would _ sign them right now, considering. But still.

Gibbs eyed him closely. He knew Tony really wasn't ready, but on the other hand, having him at the office would make it much easier to keep an eye on him. "Half days, your ass is superglued to your desk, and if you get tired you take a nap in Abby's lab."

"Boss, I won't need - "

"Those are the rules, DiNozzo. Take it or leave it."

Tony smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Gibbs lingered behind as the others left. When they were alone, he turned to Tony, all hint of teasing gone. "How are you really doing, Tony?"

"I'm fine, Boss. I really am."

"I don't believe you."

Tony was surprised Gibbs had said it aloud. _Admit to the small weaknesses, and they won't see the larger ones._ He sighed. "I'm tired. I'm OK, just still so damn tired. It's getting old, actually."

"Do you really need to be coming in tomorrow?"

"Physically? No, probably not. Mentally, though - absolutely, one hundred percent yes."

Gibbs nodded. "I can understand that. I'm dead serious, though. You push it too hard and being sick will not be your main concern. Got it?"

_Yeah, about that..._ "I got it, Boss."

"Good. Get some sleep."

"Night, Boss." The door closed behind Gibbs, and Tony allowed himself to sag against it.

_Well. This oughta be fun._


	5. Honesty

_A/N: This one was hard to write. I know it's taken awhile to get here; for some reason, I see Tony as ridiculously stubborn and unwilling to admit to weakness, even at the risk of his own health. He will have a lot to learn..._

_Also, a couple of people have asked if I'm writing this from experience. The answer is no, just research and trying to imagine what it would be like to be in that situation. So, with that in mind, if anyone sees anything from the medical end that is totally off base, I would love to know. I'm sure there will be times when things aren't entirely realistic, but I don't want anything to be just plain *wrong*. :-)_

_Thanks for sticking with this! On we go._

* * *

___And now you crossed that line  
You can't come back  
Tell me how does it feel now?  
It's too late, too much to forget about  
Can't stop now  
How does it feel now?_

-Matchbox 20, "Feel"

_

* * *

_Maybe it was time to just tell everyone, Tony thought, sitting at his desk a couple of days later. Get it over with. Hiding the radiation was one thing - yes, it made him tired (was there anything that _didn't_ make him tired these days?), and it had the potential for other side effects, but it wasn't outwardly visible. Chemotherapy was another story. Even if it didn't make him sick, no one was going to believe he shaved his head for the hell of it. And the longer he waited... He absently touched the catheter in his chest through his shirt, then stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing, hoping no one had noticed.

He had tried so many times to get up the nerve to say something. Played the conversations over in his mind, until he half thought he already _had _told them. Abby would cry. McGee would be flustered and get all serious and tongue-tied. Ziva might be the easiest; she would listen, say "I'm sorry, Tony" in that quiet voice of hers, then likely just ask him what came next. And then there was Gibbs. When he found out how much Tony had been keeping from him...well, Gibbs might not wait for the cancer to kill him.

Tony sighed, and let his head drop into his hands. "Tired, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said without looking up from his paperwork.

"Nope."

Gibbs did look up, then.

"A little."

No response.

"OK, yes. But I'm almost done here, then I'll take a break. Promise."

Gibbs stood up and grabbed his mug. "I'm going for coffee. You'd better not be here when I get back."

"Yes, boss."

He watched Gibbs' retreating back. Then he shoved his chair away from the desk, feeling his chest tighten, and took several deep breaths to try to calm down. There wasn't a lot of time left. In a few hours, he'd be at the hospital getting the first round of drugs pumped into his system. He thought of the folder, now shoved in the back of his bottom desk drawer. The words he'd seen a million times now. _Cyclophosphamide. Doxorubicin. _A foreign language that he was going to have to learn pretty damn fast.

And then he knew who he needed to talk to.

Tony yanked the drawer open, pulled the folder out, and headed for autopsy.

* * *

Luckily, Ducky was there. And even more luckily, Tony thought as he entered autopsy, he was alone. "Hey Ducky. Got a minute?"

"Tony!" Ducky was at his desk, pouring over a thick file, but closed it when he heard Tony's voice. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. I had a couple of questions, thought I'd come down here rather than calling."

"Your timing is excellent - Mr. Palmer has just stepped out for lunch, and I was taking a short break myself before starting on our poor petty officer." He gestured to the autopsy table, and Tony felt his stomach turn. He usually didn't have a problem with autopsy, and today was no different...as long as he kept his back to the body.

Tony pulled a chair over and joined Ducky at the desk. "Anything turn up on the initial exam?"

"Funny you should ask - that's what I was looking at when you came in. There was a strange bruise on the torso that reminded me of a case from several years ago. Different circumstances, of course, but it was the shape that struck me, almost like an impression of some kind, which is why I remembered it."

"That's great, Ducky." _Stop stalling, Tony._

"It's nothing conclusive, to be sure, but at this point anything useful would be very welcome." Ducky looked down at the folder Tony was gripping. "But that's not why you're here. Is it?"

"Ah, no. Not exactly."

"Well then," Ducky said. "What can I do for you?"

Tony froze.

"Anthony?"

_Say it. Open your dammed mouth and just say it. You damn coward._

He stared at the folder in his hands, not able to bring himself to look at Ducky's kind, craggy face. "Ducky, that virus. It's not exactly a virus."

"I see," Ducky said gently. "I must admit, I did have my doubts. Then what...?"

Tony's mouth was tight. "Lymphoblastic lymphoma."

Ducky's opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Well," he finally said. "I guess 'Oh, dear' doesn't exactly do the situation justice, now, does it?"

As much to his own surprise as to Ducky's, Tony burst out laughing. "No," he said, "no, I guess not. I've been thinking more along the lines of 'Oh, shit,' myself."

"Yes," Ducky said with a wry smile. "I would have to agree with you on that." He settled back in his chair. "How are you -"

"I'm fine." Tony said quickly. "A little...y'know." He shrugged, finding himself wishing for one of Ducky's long, rambling stories. _What the hell did you expect, DiNozzo? That he'd pat you on the head and go back to cutting up the petty office over there?_

"Have you told Jethro?"

"No. Not yet."

Ducky nodded. Wisely changing the subject, he said, "Were you told what stage the disease has reached?"

"3B." He handed Ducky the folder. "It's in there. All of it."

Ducky opened it and began reading carefully. "No bone marrow involvement, good, good..." he murmured to himself. "Six centimeter mass in the mediastinal region..." He looked up. "Have you begun radiation, then?"

"The day I left the hospital."

"And chemotherapy?"

"This afternoon."

Ducky flipped through the papers until he found the chemotherapy protocol. "This is quite an aggressive regimen, Anthony," he said. "I assume you'll be admitted again?"

"No. I'm doing it outpatient." Ducky looked at him, surprised. "I didn't want to stay any longer than I had to."

"Tony, I don't know if that is the wisest course of action." He tapped the page. "As I said, this is very aggressive. There are side effects -"

"It'll be fine, Ducky," Tony said, cutting him off. His tone made it clear that the matter was not open for discussion. "I'll handle it."

"Tony -"

The gentle Scottish burr was playing hell with his defenses. Suddenly, Tony knew he had to get out of there, knew that if he said another word, he would end up saying far more than he'd ever intended. He shoved his chair back roughly. "I have to go. Gibbs thinks I'm napping in Abby's lab."

Ducky simply handed him the folder, and the two walked to the door together. "Tony, if you need anything - "

"Yup." Tony mustered his warmest, most reassuring smile. "Thanks, Ducky. I'm fine, though. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ducky didn't bother to argue. Instead, he caught Tony's arm just before the doors started to close. "And Tony?"

Tony stopped, waiting.

"You're going to have to tell him. Today."

"Yeah. I know."

And he meant to tell Gibbs. He truly did. But somehow, he found himself in the car that afternoon on the way to the hospital, still not having said a single word.

* * *

McGee had just made it to his desk the next morning when his phone rang. He grabbed it and tucked it under his ear as he sat down at the computer. "McGee."

"Probie, it's me." Tony's voice was hoarse. "I'm out sick. Tell Gibbs."

"You OK, Tony?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Tell Gibbs I'll be back tomorrow."

"I will, Tony, but - " McGee broke off. Tony had already hung up. "Hmmm. That was weird," McGee said, setting the phone back on its cradle.

Ziva had looked up upon hearing Tony's name. "Is everything alright, McGee?"

"That was Tony. He said he's staying home sick today." McGee frowned. "He didn't sound too good."

"How did he sound?" Ziva asked, getting up from her desk and coming over to McGee. He shrugged.

"I don't know. Sick."

"Who's sick?" Gibbs came around the corner and into the bullpen, and headed straight for his desk, tossing his coat over the back of his chair. The coffee he was carrying was still steaming, which meant he hadn't had much yet. McGee wished he'd kept his mouth shut. It was always better to stay out of Gibbs' way until the first cup was gone. "And where's DiNozzo?"

"Um, well, it's Tony that's sick, Boss. He just called."

Gibbs froze, then turned and fixed McGee with a piercing gaze. "And what did he say, exactly?"

"He said he was out sick."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that, McGee. Did he say anything else?" Gibbs' voice was soft. Another bad sign.

"Um, well..."

"Spit it out, McGee!"

"That's really about it. He said that he'd be back tomorrow, and that he was fine."

Gibbs digested that for a second, then all but slammed his coffee cup onto the desk. "Like hell he is," he muttered, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He snatched up his keys and was in the elevator before either McGee or Ziva could say another word.

* * *

Gibbs made the fifteen minute drive to Tony's apartment in just over ten, and took the stairs two at a time. He didn't know why he was in such a hurry, but something told him that he needed to get there _now_, and this time he knew he couldn't ignore his gut. He knocked once on Tony's door, waited, then knocked again. "DiNozzo!" he called out, but there was no answer. He dug out his spare key and let himself in.

All the shades were drawn and the apartment was mostly dark, except for the flicker of the television in the empty living room. Gibbs clicked it off as he passed, heading for Tony's bedroom. It was quiet, too quiet, and Gibbs kept his voice low as he called Tony's name softly. No answer from the bedroom. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting from the bathroom at the other end of the hall. He was at the door in two long strides, and when his knock went unanswered, he eased the door open.

Tony was curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, a bath towel tucked under his head as a pillow, cell phone lying at his side. He squinted up at Gibbs, trying to focus. "Boss?" he said in not much more than a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

Gibbs ignored the question. "DiNozzo, what the hell is going on?" he said, easing to the floor beside Tony. "When did this start?"

"Last night," Tony said, barely moving his lips. Slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned heavily against the wall, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach.

"You've been in here all night?"

"I guess. Something like that." He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. It could be nothing, Gibbs thought. Stomach flu, food poisoning - hell, even a hangover. Yet even as he ran through the possibilities, he knew they were all bullshit. One look at Tony told him that something was very wrong. Gibbs pulled out his cell. "Who...who are you calling?"

"You're going back to the hospital, and this time you are not leaving until _I_ see signed papers releasing you for duty," Gibbs said, starting to dial.

"No!" Tony's eyes flew open, and he closed a shaking hand on Gibbs' wrist. "No, don't. I'm fine, Boss. Really."

"You are NOT fine, DiNozzo!" Gibbs managed not to yell, but just barely. "For God's sake, I find you on the floor, you can barely sit up, you're puking your guts out, YOU ARE NOT FINE!" He took a deep breath, clamping down on his anger.

"I..." Tony swallowed hard, grimacing. He sat for a moment, waiting to see if he was going to be sick, then said, "Call Ducky. If he...says I need...need to go, then I'll go."

Gibbs nodded briskly, and hit the speed dial. Ducky answered on the second ring. "Ducky, it's Gibbs."

"Ah, Jethro! I hope you're not calling to tell me you have another body for me, I'm running out of room -"

"No, Duck, listen. I'm at Tony's apartment. He's sick, I don't know what happened - I'm trying to get him back to the hospital, but he insisted that I call you first. Is there something you know that I don't?"

"Damn." Silence stretched across the line, until Ducky finally spoke. "Alright. Jethro, may I speak to him for a moment, please?"

Gibbs looked at Tony, who was watching through half-closed eyes. "Tony?" He nodded, and Gibbs handed him the phone.

Gibbs could only hear Tony's half of the conversation. "Hey Ducky...no. Yeah, yesterday afternoon. Um...I don't know...last night, I think...yeah, they did...I don't remember....started with a....hang on..." He started to struggle to his feet, but his knees buckled and Gibbs caught him before he fell.

"What do you need?" he whispered.

"That bottle," Tony said, gesturing to the sink. Gibbs found a prescription bottle that appeared mostly full, and handed it to Tony, who was slumped against the wall again. Tony peered at the label. "Zofran, Duck. But I can't....uh-huh...I tried, I can't keep it down...OK...yeah, OK." He handed the phone back to Gibbs and closed his eyes, sliding down to curl up on the floor again. Gibbs took the phone and went into the hallway, keeping Tony in his line of sight even as he tried to move out of earshot.

"Jethro?" Ducky was saying as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Yeah, I'm here, Duck."

"Jethro, I'm on my way. I have to make a brief stop at the pharmacy but I will be there within half an hour. Now, I need you to try to get Anthony to drink some water, at least a bit. He said he hasn't been able to drink anything since yesterday and I'm concerned that he is becoming dehydrated."

"Sure, fine. Water. Anything else?"

"No, the water may be difficult enough. Is he running a fever, do you know?"

"I think so, but I don't know how high. Tony's not exactly the type to keep a stocked medicine cabinet."

"No, I suppose he's not," Ducky chuckled.

Gibbs lowered his voice. "Duck, what's wrong with him?"

"He...didn't tell you?"

"Tell me WHAT?" His patience was growing very thin. "Would someone please explain what the HELL is going on?"

Ducky sighed. "I can't do that, Jethro. He will need to tell you himself. Don't push him now, please. We'll talk more when I arrive; in the meantime, please do try to get him to drink something."

As blindingly frustrated as Gibbs was, he knew when it was time to quit. "Alright. Thanks, Duck. The door's open." He hung up, closing the phone perhaps a bit too hard, but that was the only indulgence he allowed his anger. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, then returned to the bathroom. Tony hadn't moved; Gibbs sat on the floor beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Tony. Can you sit up if I help you?"

"Yeah, Boss. I think so." Gibbs helped him sit up until he was leaning against the wall, knees pulled into his chest.

"OK?"

"Yeah."

"You need to drink something."

Tony shook his head. "I can't."

"You can, Tony."

"No, I can't." Tony winced at the thought. "I tried, Boss, a few times. I can't keep it down."

"You need to try again. You're dehydrated." Gibbs picked up the glass. "A few sips."

"I can't."

Gibbs pulled out the big guns. "Please, Tony. Try."

Tony looked at him for a long moment. Then he took the glass and drank a few small sips of water.

"OK?"

Tony nodded. "OK."

They sat silently for a few minutes, but Tony was right - he couldn't keep it down. Gibbs closed his eyes, helpless to do anything except place a calming hand on the younger man's back as he threw up the water. "Told you," he muttered weakly, sitting back on his heels. "No more, Boss. Please."

Gibbs knew he should try again, knew that any liquid he could get into Tony would help, but he couldn't bring himself to put him through that again. "OK, Tony, no more. Ducky will be here soon." A look of relief came over Tony's face, and he relaxed against the wall, slumping sideways to lean against Gibbs' shoulder. His eyes were closed, and Gibbs couldn't tell if Tony even knew what he'd done. He brushed Tony's damp hair off his forehead and put an arm around him. "Hurry up, Duck," he said under his breath. _Please hurry._

* * *

True to his word, Ducky arrived about twenty minutes later with his medical bag and a package from the pharmacy. Gibbs and Tony hadn't moved. "In here," Gibbs called softly when he heard the front door open, and Ducky made his way back.

"Oh, Anthony." He came in, quickly kneeling on the floor beside the other two, his bag already half open. "Jethro, I'll need you to move, please." Gibbs did, carefully sliding his arm from behind Tony so as not to jar him too much. He stood in the hallway, watching, as Ducky spoke softly. "Did they give you anything for nausea before the treatment, Tony?"

Tony shook his head slightly. "Tried, but...I didn't...think I'd need it."

Ducky muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _too damn stubborn for your own good_, to which Gibbs wholeheartedly agreed.

He asked Tony a few more questions, which were answered in monosyllables. Finally, he opened the pharmacy bag and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. "Jethro, where is that prescription bottle?" Gibbs handed it to him, and Ducky checked the label carefully. Satisfied, he removed a needle and syringe and began to draw up some of the liquid. "This should help, Tony. It's the liquid form of the pills you were given. Do you have a catheter? I can use it for the injection; otherwise it needs to go in a muscle." Gibbs was now completely lost. _What on earth does a catheter... _

Tony said nothing, simply pulled up his T-shirt to reveal a small white tube in his chest.

Gibbs turned his back, his jaw clenched so tight he could feel the muscles in his neck seize up, and walked out into the living room. If he stayed, he knew he would start yelling. Better to let Ducky help, and to let himself calm down.

Calm down...not bloody likely. _Goddammit, DiNozzo! _Gibbs paced, his head buzzing with a million incoherent thoughts. He was furious: furious with Tony for keeping something so serious from him; furious with himself for being so stupid as to let him get away with it; furious with anybody and everybody for letting it happen in the first place. _And I don't even know WHAT is happening!_ Except that he _did_ know, or at least, he knew enough to understand that it was serious, far more serious than even he had suspected. He hated it, the lack of information, of facts he could wrap his head around and find some kind of order in, rather than this swirling mess of _nothing_ that was all he had to work with.

A hand touched his shoulder and he whirled. "What!"

Ducky stood behind him. "I called your name three times, Jethro."

"I didn't hear you."

"Obviously."

"What is it?"

"I need your help getting Tony in bed, or at least to the couch. I do want to get him back to the hospital, and soon, but for now he at least needs to be up off that floor."

"OK. I'm coming." He tried to pull himself back to the here and now, push the rest aside and deal with what was in front of him.

"Jethro." Ducky sighed, watching his friend's face. "Don't be angry with him."

"We'll discuss it later." Gibbs took a long, slow breath, then followed Ducky.

* * *

It took both of them to get Tony up, and even then they only made it as far as the couch before the nausea hit again and Tony had to stop. They waited, Gibbs' hand on his back, and when he was through they decided that the couch was far enough. At least it wasn't the floor. Ducky left to call Dr. Weiss and arrange to meet her at the hospital, leaving Gibbs and Tony alone.

Tony mumbled something, and Gibbs crouched beside him so that they were at eye level. He felt the anger, still coursing through his blood, begin to fade in the face of concern as he looked at Tony. He lay on his side, hair matted with sweat, and Gibbs could feel the fever emanating from his body. "I missed that, DiNozzo."

"I said, I'm sorry, Boss. I should...should have told you."

"Can you tell me now?" Gibbs said gently.

"Do I...have a choice?"

"Nope."

"Lymphoma. This...from chemo."

The final piece of the puzzle slid into place, and the picture it created left Gibbs reeling. All he managed to say was a quiet "OK," as he turned Tony's words over and over in his mind.

Tony read his silence as anger. "I'm sorry...I didn't -"

"Enough." Gibbs placed a hand on his arm. "It'll keep, DiNozzo. One thing at a time. Right now, we get through this. Understand?"

"Mmmm." Tony's eyes slid shut. "I don't..."

"I said, we will get through this." Gibbs spoke slowly and firmly. "Do you understand me?"

"...understand, Boss."

"Good."

And once again, they waited.


	6. Masked

_A/N: Sorry for the slow update! I've been traveling and haven't had as much chance to write as I'd hoped. I'll be out of town again this weekend, so the next update probably won't be till late next week, but after that I should be back to my usual schedule of updating once every couple of days. Assuming work cooperates. :-)_

_As always, thank you so much for the reviews!! Please keep the feedback coming!_

* * *

_So you've come to this bridge_  
_In an unfamiliar land_  
_You know it's a bridge you are going to walk on_  
_And the only thing you know is_  
_Everything you know_  
_Will do you no good from here on_

_ -Shaye, "Beauty"

* * *

_

When Ducky returned from calling Dr. Weiss, he found Gibbs and Tony in the dim living room. Tony was on the couch and appeared to be sleeping, though it was difficult to tell. Gibbs was sitting on the floor next to Tony, leaning against the couch and staring at nothing. Gibbs' expression was one that Ducky had never seen, except for perhaps an occasional hint when he was lost in memory, which didn't happen often. It wasn't that Gibbs didn't show emotion, but there were certain things that he simply didn't reveal, perhaps not even to himself. Now, with his back to Tony and no one to see, nothing was hidden; the mixture of anguish and rage were written clearly on his face. And underneath them both, a current of fear.

Gibbs didn't see Ducky standing in the doorway. Truth be told, he wasn't seeing or hearing much of anything, aside from Tony's ragged breathing in his ear. Tony's words still echoed through his mind, along with his own short, quiet response. _OK_. Any of his ex-wives would attest to the fact that he had piss-poor phrasing at the best of times, but this was impressive even for him. He knew Tony thought he was angry, and he was, but that wasn't the half of it. The problem, Gibbs knew, was that of all the emotions that had slammed into him at that moment, anger was the one he understood, the one he was comfortable with. The one he knew how to show. The rest...well, that was another issue.

Still, he didn't know what else he would have said. _I'm sorry?_ It sounded like pity. Gibbs didn't do pity, and he knew Tony wouldn't want it. _Why didn't you tell me?_ That was a question for later, and it would be asked, but not when Tony could barely keep his eyes open. _What can I do?_ You don't ask a question like that; you figure out what needs to happen and you do it.

Yet this time, what he could _do_ was sorely lacking. He couldn't point a gun at it; couldn't interrogate it; couldn't get it up against a wall and whisper a few very quiet, well-chosen words that would have it thoroughly terrified and ready to surrender. He remembered all the times over the years that it fallen to him to get Tony through a threat not of his own making, and realized that this was the first time that he was completely powerless to help his senior field agent. Even when Tony had been lying in isolation, struggling to breathe against the fluid in his lungs, Gibbs had been able to act, pursuing an antidote which, although it proved to be nonexistent and ultimately unnecessary, had given him something on which to focus.

Gibbs sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. No matter how useless he felt, he knew what Tony needed at that moment was a sense of calm, confidence, and reassurance. He had done the best he could, for what little it was worth_. We will get through this_, he'd said, and that was what Gibbs hoped that Tony had heard and understood.

"Jethro?"

He looked up, and any hint of vulnerability was instantly gone. "Did you reach his doctor?"

"Yes. She's going to meet us at the hospital."

"Good." Gibbs rose quickly. "Let's get going." He was ready to be moving, to be doing something, anything. _Treat it like a case_, he told himself. No matter how disturbing a situation was, he had trained himself to put everything else aside and focus on what needed to be done. Gibbs pushed all of the emotion into the well-worn part of his mind that held such things, and turned back to Tony.

"Tony." He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Mmmph."

"Time to go."

"Don't wanna."

Gibbs hid a small smile. Tony sounded as perturbed as a kid being woken for school. "I wasn't asking."

" 'm tired. Lemme sleep."

"Can't do that, DiNozzo. Let's go."

Tony grumbled something under his breath, and tried to push himself upright. The sudden movement was too much, and he clutched Gibbs' arm. "Whoa...hang on..."

Gibbs steadied him. "You feeling sick?"

"No. Yes. Just...give me a minute." He took a few slow breaths and had a very firm internal conversation with his stomach about staying where it was. Ducky watched as he fought the nausea, noting how pale, almost gray, his face looked. "Anthony, perhaps it would be best if we called an ambulance."

"_No_." Tony wished he didn't sound so weak. "No ambulance." Not while he was conscious, if he had anything to say about it. His throat burned and his mouth felt like sandpaper; he was desperate for some water, but knew that drinking anything would be, to put it mildly, extremely unwise. He drew on every last reserve of energy he could find. "I'm OK now. Let's go."

"Easy," Gibbs said, bracing Tony as he slowly got to his feet. They stood still for a moment, letting Tony get his balance, then started moving toward the door. Tony's resolve not to lean on Gibbs lasted approximately two steps before his trembling legs made it quite clear that it would be Gibbs or the floor. Since he'd had enough of the floor lately, he silently let his boss help.

It was the silence that seemed most out of place to Gibbs. He knew that Tony, much like himself, hated showing weakness. Whenever it was inevitable, Tony did his best to deflect attention with jokes and questions and whatever he could come up with, and he was good at it. Very good. The fact that he said nothing as they walked, simply letting Gibbs support him, said more to the older man about how sick Tony was than anything a doctor could have told him. He helped Tony into the backseat of his car, and trusted him to Ducky's care while he drove.

They made it to the hospital without incident. Gibbs was prepared to raise holy hell in the ER, but Dr. Weiss was waiting when they arrived and they were able to bypass triage and go straight back. Just as they were passing through the doors, Gibbs' phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket. _Abby._

"Go with him," Gibbs said in response to Ducky's questioning look. "I'll be right there." He knew Abby well enough to know that if he didn't pick up she would call again, and then again, and then she would wrangle McGee into triangulating his cell location and the next thing he knew she would be marching into the ER herself. He ducked into a quieter hallway and flipped the phone open.

"Gibbs."

"Where _are_ you??" Abby sounded frantic. "McGee said he got a call from Tony, and the next thing he knew you took off and no one's heard from you since!"

"Take it easy, Abs - "

"Something's wrong, isn't it? I know something's wrong, you don't just disappear like that if nothing's wrong!"

"Abby, I - "

"Tell me what is going on! Is it Tony? Is Tony OK?"

"Abby!" His voice was sharper than he'd intended, but it served its purpose. "I can't tell you what's going on if you don't let me talk."

"Sorry," she said, mollified. "I'm just worried, Gibbs."

"I know you are," he said. "And yes, I'm with Tony - "

"I knew it! I knew - "

"Abby." A warning.

"Sorry."

"I'm with Tony. We're at the hospital - " he ignored her sharp intake of breath " - but it's alright. Ducky's here too, and everything is under control."

"They're at the hospital," she said, and he figured Ziva and McGee were probably standing right there. "What's wrong with him, Gibbs?"

_How in the hell do I answer that? _"I can't get into it right now."

Abby sounded near tears. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Gibbs sighed. He couldn't lie to her. "It's not good, Abs."

She drew a shuddering breath. "We'll be right there. I just need to shut down the mass spec and we'll be there in a few minutes."

"No." Gibbs' tone left no room for argument. "Stay put, all of you. I'll call as soon as there's something to tell you, but until then, I need you there, doing your jobs."

"Gibbs? What if...something happens?"

"Nothing's going to happen. It isn't like that, Abby."

"Promise?" Her voice was small, scared.

"I promise."

"OK. But you had better call, Gibbs. I mean it."

Gibbs couldn't help smiling. Abby was pretty much the only person who dared talk to him that way, and he loved her for it. "Relax, Abs. I'll call. I promise."

"OK." Gibbs was about to reply when he realized that she'd already hung up. She was also the only person that dared do that. He shook his head, dropping the phone back into his pocket as he headed back to the ER.

* * *

For the second time in barely a week, Gibbs found himself in Tony's hospital room, waiting for him to wake up. It had taken two full bags of IV fluids and a veritable cocktail of medication, but Tony finally seemed to be more comfortable. Gibbs had never been so thankful for Ducky's presence. The ME had fallen into Gibbs' usual leadership role, admittedly with a bit more gentle prodding and a bit less full-on barking of orders. Between Ducky and Dr. Weiss, Tony had been admitted with lightning speed and was already out of the ER and settled in on the oncology floor. Gibbs had been left in the unfamiliar - and, to him, endlessly infuriating - position of simply having to stay out of the way.

"We gotta stop meeting like this," Tony mumbled, drawing his attention.

Gibbs raised a brow. "What was that?"

"C'mon, Boss. 'What's Up, Doc?' 1972, Barbra Streisand and Ryan O'Neal?"

"You're quoting Barbra Streisand, DiNozzo?"

"Must be the drugs."

"They're not _that_ good."

"They're good enough," Tony said, and Gibbs silently agreed. Any drugs that had Tony coherent enough to be quoting movies were great as far as he was concerned.

"You feeling better?"

"I don't feel like I'm going to puke every time I move. Does that count?"

"Works for me."

"Yeah, me too." Tony did a quick mental inventory. The world had pretty much stopped spinning. The nausea was by no means gone, but it was no longer all-consuming, and he had even had an exciting meal of ice chips that stayed where they belonged. And if he had to, he was pretty sure he could make it at least halfway across the room without his knees giving out. All in all, not too bad, considering. He glanced over at his boss. Gibbs was watching him, eyes narrowed.

"You're being honest with me? You really are feeling better?"

"Yeah, I really am. I swear."

"Good."

Tony realized his error about a half second before the gentle smack was delivered. "Hey!" He reached up and rubbed his head, glowering at Gibbs. "You're pulling your punches, Boss."

"And you'd better be damn glad I am, DiNozzo!" Gibbs hadn't been planning to have this conversation quite yet, but if Tony felt well enough to gripe at him... "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't - "

"Yeah, apparently not!" Gibbs was out of his chair, pacing. "I don't get it. Why on earth would you hide something like this?"

Tony heard the faint tone of hurt beneath the anger. "I wasn't trying to hide it."

"So what, you just sort of forgot to mention it?

"No. I just...look, you don't understand..."

Gibbs stopped, trying unsuccessfully to control his temper. "Then enlighten me. What was it? Did you feel like you couldn't come to me? Tony, you know I have your six - that's how things work around here. After all this time, you _have _to have known that!"

"I _do_ know that, boss."

"Then _WHY?_"

"Because I was scared, OK?" Tony burst out. He didn't know where the words came from, but even as they tumbled out he knew they were true. "Because as soon as I told _you_, it would be real and I would have to deal with it. And I wasn't ready for that. OK? Is that what you wanted to know?"

Gibbs stared at him. "Yeah," he finally said, his voice rough. "That's what I needed to know."

"Good," Tony snapped. He let his head fall back, cheeks burning. The surge of emotion had sapped his hard-won energy, and he closed his eyes, trying not to throw up. _Breathe...just breathe..._

It wasn't working. Tony struggled to sit up, and suddenly Gibbs was there, helping him lean forward, a strong, familiar hand on his back, talking him through. When it was over, he sank back into the pillows, listening to the water running in the bathroom, the hollow thud of the basin being set back on the table, the creak of the chair as Gibbs sat back down.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Gibbs handed him a cup, and he took a cautious sip of water.

"Don't apologize, Tony. It's - "

"A sign of weakness. I know, I know."

"I was going to say, it's not necessary," Gibbs said softly. Tony looked up to see Gibbs watching him, his expression both concerned and, oddly, amused. "Next time, Tony, before the chemo...just let them give you the damn drugs."

Tony managed a short laugh as Gibbs' phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the display. "It's Abby," he said. He was surprised she'd managed to hold out this long before calling again. He looked up at Tony. "Are you ready to talk to her?"

"Shit," Tony breathed. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen.

"Tony?"

Gibbs was holding the phone towards him. "I can't tell them over the phone!"

"They're going to figure it out pretty damn quick when they show up here, DiNozzo."

"Couldn't you...?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No. Now or later, it's your decision, but this has to come from you."

Tony nodded. Gibbs flipped the phone open and handed it over. Tony took it and slowly held it to his ear.

"Hey, Abs..."


	7. Knowing

_A/N: Finally done with travel and conferences and getting a chance to update. Thanks for putting up with the long wait! Updates should be more regular now, or at least, that's the plan... :-)_

* * *

_Have you ever told someone something  
That's far from the truth  
Let them know that you're okay  
Just to make them stop  
All the wondering, and questions they may have_

I'm okay, I really am now  
Just needed some time, to figure things out  
Not telling lies, I'll be honest with you  
Still we don't know what's yet to come

-_Lene Marlin, "Disguise"_  


_

* * *

_  
As he took the phone from Gibbs, Tony felt a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with the chemo. Telling Gibbs had not been as difficult as he'd feared, simply because he had been half-conscious and didn't have the strength to hide anything. Really, if you were going to deliver bad news, that was the way to do it, he thought. Much less stressful. Though there _was _the minor detail of getting to that semi-conscious state in the first place, which was certainly an experience he'd rather not repeat.

This time he was far too awake, and reeling from his outburst and its subsequent fallout. The things he'd said to Gibbs were thoughts he hadn't even really been aware of himself, and they still swirled in his head, too raw to fully process. Trying to figure out what he would say to Abby, and Ziva and McGee, was beyond him. If he was going to be honest with himself, though, he could have been completely calm and had years to think, and he still wouldn't have known what to say. There should be a book or something. _How to Give Shitty News in Three Easy Steps_. It'd make the best-seller list, easy.

"Hey, Abs."

"Tony? Oh, thank God! Guys, it's him!" Abby said. "Tony, are you OK? Well, of course you're not OK, you're in the hospital. Stupid question. Sorry. But what's going on? Gibbs said...well, he didn't say anything, really. Just that it wasn't...wasn't good...Tony, what did he mean?"

Nothing like laying it all out there. _It has to be now_, he told himself. It was either that or a big, melodramatic bedside confessional, and he had never been a fan of soap operas.

"Abby, are the others there? Can you put me on speaker?" There was no way he was saying this more than once.

"Speaker? Oh, God, Tony, this is bad, it's really bad, isn't it. I knew it. I knew - "

"Please, Abby." _Do it quick before I lose my nerve._

"Sorry, Tony...yeah, they're both here. Hang on." He heard a rustling on the other end, then Abby's voice with a slight echo. "Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you. Hey Ziva, McGee."

"Tony?" McGee was close to the speaker. "Tony, seriously, are you OK?"

_OK? I'm great! How lucky am I - I won the potentially fatal illness lottery twice!_ He couldn't bring himself to say that, though, or any of the other smartass comments that ran through his head. Funny how much more difficult it was to just be straight with them. He glanced at Gibbs, who simply nodded.

"Not exactly. You guys know I've been kind of, not really 100% lately" He clenched the phone tighter and closed his eyes, trying to block out...what, he wasn't sure. The world in general, most likely. "I've, uh, been diagnosed with lymphoblastic lymphoma. Something to do with pre...T-cell...cursor...something like that."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, Abby's trembling voice. "Lymphoma. Tony, that's...that's cancer."

He winced. He hated hearing Abby so upset, and hated even more that he was the cause of it. "Yeah, Abs. It is."

"But, that's not...you can't...oh my God." She broke off abruptly. He heard Ziva in the background, saying, "Abby, sit down."

"Abby?"

"It's me, Tony," McGee said.

"Is she OK?"

"Uh, yeah. She's a little...a little upset. Surprised. I...we all are." Tony pictured McGee the way he always looked when something caught him off guard, and waited, knowing he was searching for the right words. That made two of them, then. "Tony...I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Probie."

"I know. But still."

"Yeah."

"How, um, how bad..."

"How bad? It's cancer, McGee. That's kind of bad - at least, I thought so, but maybe you've got a different perspective." Tony wished he could take the words back as soon as they'd come out of his mouth. He knew what McGee was asking, and he was perfectly capable of answering in the sterile, clinical terms he'd been given. What it _meant_, though, it was a question that he'd been trying not to ask himself. "Bad" was quickly becoming much more than stages and statistics. Bad was a whole different world.

"Tony, I..."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, McGee. You didn't deserve that."

"It's alright, Tony."

"No, it isn't." Tony said. "How bad...well, it's stage 3B, not great, but could be worse." He could tell McGee was nodding on the other end, and wouldn't have been surprised if he was taking notes. So much the better. Maybe McGee could make sense of some of it, because Tony sure as hell couldn't. He went on, feeling like he was talking about someone else entirely. "There's a tumor in my chest, they're treating that with radiation, and chemo for...well...the rest..." He trailed off.

"Tony." Ziva, now. "What can we do?"

_Make it stop. Make it all stop. _"Unless you were planning on going to med school, nothing, Ziva. I'm fine. I really am. Don't worry."

"Of course we're worried, Tony!" Abby was back, sounding only marginally calmer. "But we'll be there. You don't have to go through this alone. You have us."

"Thanks, Abby." _That's what I was afraid of. I don't want any of you to see this. This isn't me. This isn't Tony.  
_

They spoke for a few more minutes, until Gibbs, noticing that Tony had regressed to monosyllabic responses, finally motioned for the phone. Tony handed it over gratefully, not sure how much more of the stilted conversation he could take. He could barely force himself to listen as Gibbs said something to McGee and hung up. At least it was over; at least they all knew.

At least he didn't have to see their faces.

He felt himself shutting down, closing in, either from exhaustion or illness or guilt or some combination, he didn't know. He didn't want to know. He wanted to roll over and go to sleep and not think about it anymore. Not hear Abby's voice in his head. _Tony, that's cancer._ Abby. He'd known she would take it the hardest.

"Boss," he said quietly. "Can you go check on Abby?"

Gibbs didn't need an explanation. "I was planning on it. You need anything before I leave?"

"No." Tony turned his face to the wall.

Gibbs stood. "I'll be back later."

"You don't have to," Tony said.

"Later," Gibbs repeated. Tony didn't look up as he left.

* * *

Gibbs arrived back at NCIS to find his team gathered in the bullpen. He had expected it, would have been surprised had they already gone their separate ways, even though it was growing late. His team tended to close ranks in a crisis, and Tony's illness was no exception. It was in these times that their relationships shifted from being colleagues, and friends, to family. It was a good thing, Gibbs thought. Tony was going to need family, and his own certainly wouldn't be of any use.

Getting off the elevator, he stood just out of sight, examining the subdued group. McGee was glued to his computer monitor, brow furrowed, clearly engrossed in what he was reading. Ziva had a case file spread out on her desk, but she was sitting with her chin on her hand, staring into space. Abby was at Tony's desk, slumped in his chair hugging Bert the Hippo. Her cheeks were streaked with black eyeliner and her eyes were still red. _Oh, Abby..._

"OK, here's something," he heard McGee say.

"Is it something that _doesn't_ tell us Tony's going to die?"

"Abby," Ziva chided. "No one has said that Tony is going to die."

"No one's said he won't, either, Ziva. You don't know - "

"Enough of that," Gibbs said, rounding the corner. All three started, looking up at him as if they hadn't been expecting to see him for hours yet, if at all.

"Gibbs." Ziva was the first to speak. She picked up the file from her desk. "We are still working on..." she began hesitantly.

Gibbs stopped her. "It can wait, Ziva." He caught Abby's eye, and she scrambled out of the chair and nearly ran to him. He wrapped his arms around her and she buried her face in his chest, shoulders shaking. "It's OK, Abs," he murmured, stroking her hair, trying not to notice how hollow the words sounded.

"No, it's not," she said, her voice muffled by his jacket. She tipped her head back to look up at him. "It's not OK, Gibbs. This is Tony we're talking about. Tony! He can't be dying, he can't!"

"Hey!" Gibbs sat on the edge of the desk, holding her at arm's length. "Ziva's right, Abby. No one said that Tony's dying."

"He has _cancer,_ Gibbs!"

"He had the plague, too," McGee said. "He survived that, didn't he?"

"Tony is strong," Ziva said. "He has a good chance, does he not, Gibbs?"

Their words were meant to be encouraging, but it was clear that both were just as upset as Abby. This needed to stop.

"Better not let Tony hear you're writing him off, Abs," Gibbs said mildly. The look of pure indignation on her face was exactly what he was aiming for.

"I am _not_ writing him off! How can you say that?"

"You've practically got him dead and buried."

"Not true! Besides, Tony wants to be cremated, not buried. Don't you know anything?" She stopped, then with a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, let herself be pulled back into Gibbs' arms.

"That's better," he said softly, and she managed a small smile.

"Boss, what happened, exactly?" McGee asked. "I mean, Tony was here yesterday and he seemed OK. He wasn't feeling great, but he hasn't been, lately."

Gibbs leaned against the desk. It had taken him awhile to decide exactly what to tell them, and in the end he had decided to be as straightforward as possible. "He started chemo yesterday afternoon, and I guess the side effects were a lot worse than he'd anticipated. He couldn't keep anything down - he was pretty dehydrated by the time I got there."

"Poor Tony," Abby murmured, and Gibbs tightened his arms around her. Scenes from the morning flashed through his mind. He was very, very glad Abby had not been there.

"I don't understand how it got so bad. There's medication that can help," McGee said. "Or didn't it work?"

"Sure, it helped some, once Ducky actually gave it to him. He should have gotten it before the chemo but he didn't think he'd need it."

"Tony being Tony," Ziva said softly.

"No kidding," McGee said. "Wait, though - Ducky gave it to him? Did he know about this?"

Gibbs nodded. "Tony told him yesterday, before he left."

"And he didn't say anything?"

"It wasn't his place, McGee," Gibbs replied, choosing not to mention how pissed off he'd been over that very thing. "To be fair, he did think Tony had spoken to me already." He wasn't entirely sure how Ducky could have believed that, not when Gibbs hadn't come pounding on his door demanding information. But then, none of them seemed to be thinking very clearly.

McGee nodded. "Can...can we see him?" he asked.

"Tomorrow. He's pretty wiped out. Give him some time - and you, too."

Another nod, and McGee pushed his chair back. "I'm going to go talk to Ducky. I think he's still here," he said, shutting off his computer monitor.

"Wait up, McGee - I'll go with you." Abby pulled away from Gibbs, turning so that he could see her hands. _Are you going back to the hospital tonight?_ she signed_. _He nodded. _I'm going with you. Don't you dare leave without me._ Without waiting for an answer, she took off after McGee.

Gibbs sank into his desk chair. The combination of tension and anger and worry was beginning to catch up to him, and he could feel the beginning of a nasty headache building behind his eyes. He let his head fall into his hands. Ziva...McGee...Abby...he could still see their faces as they were when he first arrived. Stricken, numb, confused. Had he said the right things to them? Were there any right things _to_ say?

As tired as he was, sitting still was difficult. He wanted to get back to the hospital, and he tried to convince himself that it was so someone was keeping an eye on Tony, to make sure nothing else went wrong, no other information was conveniently left out. That was a load of crap and Abby would have called him on it in a second. Truth was, he just didn't want Tony to be alone for long. The look in Tony's eyes when he'd left worried Gibbs just as much as his physical health. Maybe more.

He leaned back, taking in the mostly empty bullpen. Ziva was the only one still there. In fact, she had barely moved; she was still at her desk, her dark head bent over the file spread before her. Gibbs realized that she had barely said a word since he'd returned. "Ziva?"

She looked up. Her jaw was set, and Gibbs was not entirely surprised to see that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. Without a word, she gathered her things and headed quickly for the elevator.

Gibbs sprinted after her and made it inside just before the doors closed. Ziva made no effort to stop him. She stood staring straight ahead, not meeting his eyes.

"Ziva."

No response. He reached out and slapped the emergency stop, bringing the elevator to a halt, then grasped her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Talk to me, Ziva."

She folded her arms across her chest and pulled away, closing him out. "He said nothing, Gibbs." The words came slowly, as if she was struggling to get them out. "Nothing. He must have known days ago."

Gibbs sighed. Her tone was angry, hurt. Familiar. "He did."

"Did _you _know?"

"Not till this morning."

She nodded briskly, then started to speak, but stopped. She stood motionless for a time, the emotions battling on her face. "Why?" she finally whispered.

It was a million questions wrapped into one, and most of them were ones he couldn't answer. "I don't know," he said, quietly. He waited while she tipped her head back, trying to compose herself, refusing to allow any tears to fall. Then she hit the switch and the elevator whirred back to life.

"I'll walk you to your car," he said when they reached the garage.

"You don't have to do that, Gibbs. I am perfectly fine by myself."

"What is it with you people?" Gibbs sounded exasperated. "First Tony, now you. You don't have to do everything alone, you know."

"We learned it from the best."

He gave her his patented "Yeah, whatever," look, and put an arm around her shoulder as they walked across the garage. This time, she didn't pull away.


	8. Home

_She said she didn't believe  
It could happen to me  
I guess we're all one phone call  
from our knees  
__  
-Mat Kearney, "Closer to Love"_

_

* * *

  
_

Abby paused outside Tony's half-open door and looked in, bracing herself. The room was dim, the only light coming from a small reading lamp and the television. She looked around, taking in the monitors and the IV stand beside the bed. This didn't feel right; she shouldn't be looking for Tony here. The entire floor of the hospital had a hushed, dismal feel that didn't fit Tony at all. Granted, it _was_ late and pretty much everyone was asleep, which probably contributed to the quiet. But still. He shouldn't be here.

When finally brought herself to look at Tony, though, he was flipping channels on the television, looking thoroughly bored and...well, like Tony. There were shadows under his eyes; his skin was pale; the sharpness of his cheekbones highlighted how much weight he'd lost in the last month. There was an IV in his arm, and another that looked like it was in his chest. He looked sick, she admitted that; yet he was still, completely, Tony. Abby didn't know what she'd expected - she guessed some overnight transformation into "cancer patient", whatever that was - and she felt a sense of relief as she pushed the door all the way open. "Tony! You're awake!"

"Abby!" Tony looked up to see her standing tentatively in the doorway, Gibbs behind her. "I didn't know you were coming tonight," he said, giving Gibbs a pointed look. _A little warning, Boss? _

"She threatened me," Gibbs said mildly as the two entered the room.

"I told him I'd replace his coffee with decaf."

"Ouch, Abs." Tony winced dramatically. "That's just cruel."

"Pretty much the worst thing I could think of to do to Gibbs," she said with a mischievous grin.

"I didn't mean to Gibbs."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "You don't have complete immunity, DiNozzo," he warned.

"Right. My bad. Sorry, Boss." Abby had made her way slowly to the side of the bed and was standing there, giving Tony an appraising look. "You can sit down if you want," he said.

"Are you sure it's OK? I won't...hurt anything?"

"Abs, I'm not going to break." He patted the empty space on the bed. "And I promise I won't throw up on you. At least, I think I won't."

She smiled and sat down gingerly beside Tony. "So, you're feeling better? Gibbs said...it was pretty rough."

"_Much_ better." He gave her his best _I'm fine_ smile. He'd gotten a lot of practice with that one lately. Gibbs rolled his eyes, which didn't escape Tony's notice. "C'mon, Boss. I am."

"Sure you are, DiNozzo. You've gone, what, a whole hour without getting sick?"

Tony felt his cheeks grow hot. Abby didn't need to hear this. It was bad enough that Gibbs and Ducky had witnessed it; the idea of being that weak, that vulnerable, in front of the rest of the team... "Two. Which is a hell of a lot better than this morning. Can we talk about something else, please?" He sat up, reaching for the cup of water on the table beside the bed.

"I'll get it," Abby said, scooting forward to retrieve the cup and handing it to Tony. "Cool bendy straw." As he sipped, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair.

"It's sticking up all over," she said at his confused look.

"Hey, let it stick up while I've still got it," Tony said with a wry smile. Abby ruffled it back to its previous state of disarray. "Thank you very much."

"So you are going to lose it, then?"

"Probably." Tony was trying not to think about that too much. His efforts to convince himself that it wouldn't matter, that it was only hair, hadn't worked very well. Instead, he pushed it aside, figuring he'd deal with it when it came, just like everything else.

Abby saw his face darken. "Scoot over." She gave him a very gentle nudge, and he slid over on the bed a few inches to allow her to curl up next to him. "I think you'll look cute without hair."

"I'll look like a giant thumb, Abs."

"But a very cute giant thumb."

"Thanks. Forgive me if I stick with a ball cap."

Her eyes lit up. "I could shave my head! We all could! Y'know, in solidarity."

Tony cringed. That was exactly the kind of gesture he didn't want - to be the object of his friends' pity. He glared at Abby menacingly. "You touch those pigtails, and I will cut the power cord off your mass spectrometer."

"Not Major Mass Spec!" Abby's eyes widened in mock horror and she raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I swear that the razor will never meet my hands, sir."

"I always knew you were smart."

"So what are we watching?"

Tony had been flipping around, settling on a random movie as he usually did when he didn't have access to his DVD collection. "Die Hard with a Vengeance."

"How is it so far?"

"Vengeful."

They lay in companionable silence, watching Bruce Willis blow the hell out of several bad guys. Tony was surprised at how _not_ awkward having Abby there had proved to be. He could tell she had been nervous when she first arrived, and he'd done his best to put her at ease, trying not to let on how sick he still felt. He had told Gibbs the truth: compared to that morning, he really did feel much better. Didn't mean he felt _good_. But his efforts seemed to be paying off. Abby was relaxed next to him, and he'd gotten a few smiles out of her. Gibbs had quit the interrogation routine and had leaned back in the chair. Tony thought he might even be dozing.

All the better if he was. Tony hated knowing he'd put his boss through so much that day. Not that Gibbs would ever mention it, but Tony could see the lines of strain on the older man's face even as he slept. He tried to suppress a pang of guilt, telling himself that Gibbs had meant what he said, that he _did_ have Tony's six. Still, this had to be much more than Gibbs had ever bargained for. And it was likely to get worse before it got better.

Abby poked him. "Look. Bruce Willis is sorta almost bald."

Tony elbowed her in the side, and she laughed softly. Then, suddenly serious, she said, "Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Tony tensed. He'd been waiting for that question, and knew it was likely to come from each of his teammates at some point. In the quiet darkness of the room, the television casting flickering light over them, it seemed somehow easier to be honest - or as close to it as he was willing to go. "Just couldn't," he said. He knew Abby would understand him. It was a testament to how well she knew him that she didn't push for more.

Instead, she nestled closer into his side. Tony smiled at how comfortable such a gesture had become. Abby had always been one for physical affection - to her, a hug was as natural as a hello. Tony had found this concept foreign and somewhat unnerving when the two had first met. Back then, aside from a high five on the basketball court and the like, touch generally fell into two categories for Tony DiNozzo: Violence - his father's legacy - and sex. It had taken more than a year of hugs and headslaps for him to open up to the idea of touch as simple affection. He had Abby and Gibbs to thank for that.

Before long, Abby had joined Gibbs in the slow, steady breathing of sleep. Tony could have laughed - for once, he was the only one _not_ completely passed out. Sleep might not have been a bad idea - if nothing else, it would have been a respite from the sickness building again in the pit of his stomach - but he was feeling more peaceful than he had in days, and he wanted to enjoy it for awhile. Perhaps it was because the truth was finally out, or maybe it was simply because there were two people in the room with him who really, honestly, gave a damn. He didn't have the first clue why they did, but he wasn't going to question it. Not now.

* * *

It was another two days before Dr. Weiss was comfortable releasing Tony from the hospital. Ziva and McGee had come by more than once, but he'd been out cold both times according to Abby, who'd taken to guarding him like a mother hen. "You should have woken me up," he'd said, but she'd cut him off with a firm "Absolutely not. You need your rest." He had dropped the issue more quickly then he normally would. Honestly, he was slightly relieved that he hadn't had to face them yet. _You're going to have to see them eventually_, he told himself. _You can't be asleep all the time._

Come to think of it, though, that didn't sound like such a bad idea. While the worst of the nausea had subsided, it had been replaced by a bone-crushing fatigue like nothing he'd ever experienced. _I thought I was tired before_, Tony thought, willing himself not to lean against the window of Gibbs' car and fall asleep. _Probably could have run a marathon, compared to this._

He compromised and let his head fall against the window, forcing his eyes to stay at least at half-mast. That was the best he could do. He watched the street signs flashing past and suddenly realized they weren't anywhere near his apartment.

"Boss, you know I live back the other way, right?"

"Of course I know that, DiNozzo. We're not going to your place."

"Why not?" he asked, with a sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer. _Don't do this to me, Boss..._

"Because I don't want to sleep on your couch."

_He's doing it. _"You don't have to sleep on my couch."

"Well, I'm sure as hell not sleeping with you."

Tony sighed. "You know what I mean. I'm fine by myself." He tried to sound as firm and alert as possible, but the yawn that slipped out undermined his efforts.

"Your doctor didn't seem to think so." Tony stifled a sigh. Dr. Weiss had told him in no uncertain terms that he had screwed up majorly by trying to get through that first night without calling anyone for help. "Extremely foolhardy," she'd called him, which was evidently the medical term for _dumbass_. Unfortunately for Tony, Gibbs had been present during the doctor's little lecture, and his boss seemed to have taken it to heart.

"She was talking about earlier, Boss. I think that part's over, at least for this round."

"Maybe so," Gibbs said, showing no sign of changing direction. "But if I know where you are and what's going on, both of our lives are going to be a lot easier. Otherwise, the first morning you oversleep, Abby's going to have a SWAT team and an EMT unit at your door." _And I'd be leading them_.

"Abby overreacts," Tony muttered.

Gibbs laughed. "I'll let you tell her that."

"Do I look stupid?" Tony asked. Gibbs shot him a quick glance. "Never mind. Don't answer that." He quit arguing for the time being. Gibbs clearly wasn't about to be swayed, and frankly, he didn't have the energy. Better to humor the boss for now and find a way to head home later on. Right. Later. He'd think about it later...

Despite his best intentions, Tony found himself being shaken awake by Gibbs once the car had stopped. "We're here, Tony. C'mon. You can go back to sleep once we get you upstairs."

" 'kay," Tony mumbled, trying to clear the haze of sleep from his mind and remember where he was and what was going on. Gibbs' house. That was it. Gibbs had kidnapped him, or something like that. He opened the car door and dragged himself out, waited until Gibbs unlocked the front door, then trudged behind him into the house.

He'd stayed with Gibbs a few times before; it had become his default place to crash on the rare occasions that he couldn't stay at his apartment. Between yawns, he looked around at the familiar, cozy kitchen and living room. Bachelor or no, the house still bore a few distinctly warm touches. Tony had gathered, through his crack investigative technique of finally just asking, that they came from Shannon. Gibbs had never actually confirmed his theory, but his curt response - "It's sure as hell not from the others" - cleared up the question as far as Tony was concerned.

His eyes fell on a flatscreen television in the living room, where Gibbs' old set with the rabbit ear antenna had once been. Tony had teased him about it once, asking if he still had a transistor radio hanging around too, but had been slightly derailed when Gibbs had looked at him, confused, and said "Yeah, why?" "That's ancient, Boss," he'd said, and Gibbs had simply shrugged and replied "Still works."

That pretty much summed up Gibbs' response to any attempt to get him to pick up new technology, much to Abby and McGee's eternal frustration, so the sudden appearance of a television that actually had a remote was suspicious. "New TV?" he said, noting the DVD player sitting on the shelf underneath. "When did you get that?"

"A while ago," Gibbs replied, making a mental note to get the box out of his basement before Tony saw it. He headed upstairs, Tony close behind, and set Tony's duffel bag down on the guest bedroom bed. There were changes here too, Tony realized. The sheets looked fresh, brand new. There was another, smaller television on the dresser opposite the bed, a stack of DVDs beside it. The closet door stood open, and Tony could see some very familiar clothing hanging inside. It looked like someone had transported half his wardrobe over here. The comfortable half.

Tony sat down on the bed, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "You...you really didn't have to do this."

"It was Abby's idea," Gibbs said, looking mildly uncomfortable. "She thought you might be less likely to go UA if it felt a little more...how'd she put it? Homey."

Tony looked at his boss. "Abby, huh? Well, tell Abby I said thanks. A lot."

"You can tell her yourself. She'll be over later." Tony stifled another yawn, and Gibbs nodded towards the bed. "You should finish that nap. You know where everything is, right? Bathroom's down the hall."

"I remember," Tony said. He grinned, not able to resist messing with Gibbs a little. "Unless you put in a spa or something, too."

"Maybe when I finish the boat."

"So, that would be never?"

"Pretty much." Gibbs stepped into the hall. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything." He pulled the door shut behind him, before Tony could insist that he'd be fine.

Tony sat alone, still not sure what to think of all that Gibbs had done. The older man had gone to so much trouble to make him feel comfortable, but there was more to it than that. An unspoken message: _This is going to be a long haul_.

It was, he knew. He'd never given a minute's thought to what treating cancer might entail - never had any reason to - and he'd been unpleasantly surprised to discover that it was a long, slow, uncertain process. Depending on his body's response, the initial rounds of chemo alone could take a few months. And that was if everything went well. _If it didn't_... He shoved the thought aside quickly.

There was another part to Gibbs' message, though, Tony thought as he slid under the crisp, cool sheets. Not that he would ever allow himself to take Gibbs up on it. But it was nice to know all the same.

_You're welcome here as long as it takes._


	9. Normal

_A/N: Not a terribly eventful chapter, but hopefully still readable. The whammies, for those of you who've never seen them, are from an old game show called Press Your Luck. They were quite adorable; either that, or I'm quite twisted. Maybe both. ;-)_

_Originally, the scene between Gibbs and Jen was far, __far more heated, but as I read back over it I realized that it didn't quite seem in character. Too bad, too; I kinda liked Gibbs letting Jen have it. I didn't dislike Jen, but she really needed her ass handed to her for using Tony like she did. Anyway, if it seems a bit bland, that's probably why - I was trying not to let anyone start yelling. ;-)_

_OK, off my soapbox now. Enjoy!_

* * *

_Are you scared?  
Are you scared?  
Are you scared?_

_'Cause if you're scared  
You're not alone...  
_

_- Kendall Payne, "The Second Day"_

_

* * *

_

"Probie!" Tony grinned, strolling into the bullpen. "Y'miss me?"

"Tony!" McGee jumped up from his desk, looking at his friend in surprise. Tony had been out less than a week - McGee hadn't expected to see him at work so soon. "What are you doing here?"

Tony's eyes widened dramatically. "I'm not dead!" he said, adopting an exaggerated cockney accent. "I'm getting better! I don't want to go on the cart!"

McGee turned bright red. "I...I didn't mean - "

"Aw, I'm just messing with you, Probie," Tony said, giving him a friendly punch on the arm. "It's Monty Python! The Holy Grail? Please tell me you knew that." McGee didn't reply, and Tony shook his head sadly. "I have sorely neglected your education, McPadawan."

"No, I knew, it's just..." McGee smiled, still looking uncertain. "It _is_ good to see you, Tony, really good. I was just surprised, that's all. How are you - "

"What are you doing here?" Ziva's clear voice rang over the wall as she came in, sounding equally as surprised as McGee.

"Don't ask him that, Ziva," McGee warned. "Not unless you want to hear Monty Python for the next twenty minutes."

"Why is Tony talking about a snake?" She eyed Tony. "And what _are_ you doing here?"

"Desk work." As usual, Gibbs had managed to enter the bullpen without being noticed. "Lots and lots of desk work."

"Thanks, Boss," Tony muttered, settling into his chair. Gibbs hadn't been joking. The stack of unfinished reports on his desk would take him a week, easy. He was bored just looking at them.

Gibbs leaned over his desk, his voice low. "I'm going to take your restricted duty paperwork up to the director," he said, "unless you want to do it yourself?"

Tony's face shuttered, and he shook his head. "It's all yours," he said. Gibbs wasn't surprised. Tony's relationship with Jen had changed since Jeanne left. It was subtle; he was still polite, even amiable, but everything was kept strictly professional. Gibbs could still remember the pain in Tony's voice when Jen asked him what Jeanne had said. _Nothing you need to know, Director. _And since then, as far as Gibbs knew, Tony had told Jen nothing that she didn't need to know.

Still, he wanted to be certain. "You sure? She's going to want to talk to you."

"If there's a problem with the paperwork or she needs something else for the file, I'll be glad to talk to her." The message was clear. Gibbs nodded, and jogged up the stairs to the director's office.

Tony watched him go. Then he turned back to his desk, only to find Ziva leaning against it, watching him. "Geez! Next time, warn me when you're going to do the whole ninja-stealth thing, would you?"

Ziva rolled her eyes. "I am not a ninja, Tony. I move quietly, that is all."

"You could be a ninja, though." Tony pretended to look her up and down. "Black catsuit, mask - it could be good on you."

"I am confused - first I am a ninja, now a cat?"

"No, Ziva, a catsuit is - " McGee stopped when Ziva gave him a death glare. "Never mind."

She turned back to Tony. "Can I help you with something, oh silent one?" he asked.

Ziva was examining him just a little too closely for his comfort. "How are you feeling, Tony?" she asked.

"Feeling fine, Ziva." Tony wondered if he should get a little Talking Tony doll. It could sit on his shoulder, and whenever anyone asked how he was feeling, he could pull the string, and it would say "I'm fine!" Maybe every tenth time or so, it could try to bite the asker, just to keep things interesting.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep, I'm sure."

"Because you still do not look well."

"Aw, thanks. I'm blushing."

"Tony, I am just worried- "

"Well, don't be." He saw the honest concern on her face and softened a bit. "Look, Ziva, I'm doing good, relatively speaking. It's not going to be a great few months, but I don't need to be sitting at home, either. I'll go insane."

Ziva could understand that. She would have felt the same. "If you need anything, Tony..."

"Thanks," he said quickly, making it clear that the subject was closed.

She returned to her desk, and Tony started sifting through the reports in front of him. He could sense Ziva and McGee watching him out of the corners of their eyes, and tried to look alert and busy. Paperwork had always put him to sleep, though. It really _was_ going to be a long few months. Very, very long.

Tony stood quickly, too quickly, closing his eyes for a second against the lightheadedness that came whenever he moved too fast. Ziva was still watching. "Are you alright, Tony?" she said, starting to get up.

He bit back a scream of frustration and smiled. "I'm fine. I'll be in the lab if anyone needs me." He was gone before Ziva could question him further.

* * *

Cynthia's desk was empty when Gibbs arrived, so he went directly to Jen's door and knocked. He heard a soft "Come in," and slipped through the door, easing it shut behind him. Jen sat at her desk, glasses on, surrounded by stacks of files and loose papers.

"Busy saving the world?"

"One piece of paper at a time." She seemed glad to see him, or maybe just glad for the interruption. "Do you have something for me?"

"More paper." Gibbs nodded towards the couch. "Come take a break."

She came around the desk, taking the papers and settling next to Gibbs on the couch. She started to lay them aside, but Gibbs stopped her. "You might want to read that now, Jen."

"What is it?"

"Tony's restricted duty paperwork."

She started scanning the documents. "How is he?"

"Well, he's here..." Gibbs said noncommittally. He didn't quite know where to go from there. He'd thought that, once he was in her office and they were talking, that he would know what to say to her, but the words weren't coming the way he'd hoped.

Jen had stopped halfway down the page. "Extended restriction...periodic leaves of absence..."

"He's pretty sick, Jen," Gibbs began, but she'd already flipped to the medical report and was reading it carefully. She slowly raised her head to look at him.

"Is this...accurate?"

"Oh, yeah. It's accurate."

Jen let the papers fall to her lap. "My God. I had no idea." Gibbs felt a pang of guilt. He should have said something sooner, he knew, but just like with the team, the timing was up to Tony. _What do you want me to tell Jen?_ he'd asked one night, while Tony was still in the hospital. _Can we figure that out later?_ Tony had asked, and Gibbs agreed...and somehow, they had never quite gotten around to _later_.

Jen started to get up. "I should go talk to him."

Gibbs stopped her, pulling her back to the couch. This was what he'd been afraid of. He knew Jen would want to reach out to Tony, knew she still cared about him, but also knew that Tony wasn't ready yet. He was keeping most people at arm's length, as much as they would let him, and she wouldn't be any different. "Jen, I don't think he wants to talk."

"Jethro, this is Tony," Jen said, as if explaining something that should be patently obvious. "I need to talk to him."

"No, you don't." He indicated the paperwork. "You have everything there. Medical report, his request, my authorization."

"But I - "

Gibbs closed his eyes. Was he really going to have to spell it out? He'd been trying not to hurt her, but was afraid he wasn't going to have a choice. What Tony needed had to come first. "Jen, he doesn't want to talk, OK? Not on a personal level, anyway."

She looked at him, understanding dawning on her face. "Did he...say that?"

"He said if you need something else for the file, he'll be happy to discuss it with you."

She blew out a breath, leaning back against the couch. "So, he still doesn't trust me."

"Can you blame him?" Gibbs' quiet tone took some of the sting out of the words.

"No, I guess I can't." She was quiet for a moment. "I wish I hadn't had to put him in that position, Jethro. I really do."

"Let's not start this again, Jen."

"I didn't have a choice," she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. "It wasn't personal." She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Gibbs.

Gibbs had heard it all before, and hadn't believed a word. Hearing it again, now, considering what Tony was facing... "It _was _personal. Maybe you didn't mean to hurt Tony, but don't try to bullshit me about it being a purely professional op. I haven't bought it yet - what makes you think I'm going to start now?"

Her face grew cold. "Now really isn't the time to have this discussion."

_You think, Jen? _"No, you're right. It's not." Gibbs left it there, frustrated at almost letting himself get pulled into the old argument again. It was an issue they would likely never agree upon, at least not until Jen was honest with herself about her motivations for pursuing La Grenouille.

He laced his fingers together and put his hands behind his head. "Tony's staying with me, at least as long as I can convince him to." Keeping Tony at his place had been a tough sell, although not as tough as Gibbs had anticipated. He'd had a bit of help, though...

Jen nodded, being more than familiar with Tony's stubborn nature. "How'd you manage that one?"

"Abby." Gibbs hid a smile, remembering Abby advancing on Tony, hands on hips, when he had tried to explain to her why it would be better if he just went home. Something about killing him herself, and then bringing him back to life and lecturing him until his ears fell off. "I've never seen Tony actually back away from someone before."

"You said he's here...do you mean he's working?" Jen sounded concerned, and Gibbs didn't blame her. His first reaction when Tony told him of his intention to go back to work had been _Hell no!_ The more he thought about it, though, the more it made sense. Tony had never been able to sit still for long, even when his body had desperately needed it, and Gibbs knew he'd only last so long being penned up in the house. There was also the fact that Tony would have been alone most of the time. Neither of them had mentioned it, but they didn't have to. His family was here, and as much as he didn't want to talk about what he was going through, as much as he wanted everyone to think that everything was normal, he also wanted - needed - to be near them.

"Yes, he is. Being sick doesn't mean his mind isn't working, Jen. Obviously he won't be in the field, but as long as he's cleared for desk duty then I have plenty for him to do here." He thought for a moment, and continued. "He needs it, Jen. I think the whole team may need it."

Jen didn't look convinced. "Is that really OK, though, Jethro? His health...won't it be too much?"

Gibbs looked at her, incredulous. "For crying out loud, Jen! Give me a little credit. Do you really think I'd do something that would endanger Tony's health? Trust me, he pushes too hard and he will be placed on immediate extended leave, and he knows it." Gibbs did smile, this time. "And with both Abby and Ziva watching him like a couple of mama bears, he won't be getting away with a damn thing."

_Might be a papa bear there, too, _Jen thought, hiding a smile of her own.

* * *

Escaping to the lab, Tony found Abby in front of her computer watching an AFIS search. "C'mon...c'mon..." she was saying under her breath as the prints flashed past on the screen.

"No whammies, no whammies..." Tony said in her ear and she jumped, then started laughing.

"I love them!" she said, turning to give him a quick hug. "I used to want a pet whammy but the pet store never seemed to have any."

"I heard they were a bitch to housebreak. You weren't missing much," Tony said, hugging her back.

Abby hopped off her stool. "How's your first day back in the real world?"

Tony made a face. "Eh. McGee and Ziva seem to think I'm going to break in half."

"They're just worried," Abby said gently. She picked up a Caf-Pow from the counter and sipped at it, the look on Tony's face making her think it was probably time to change the subject. "What've you got there?" She indicated the bag of Goldfish Tony was holding.

_Breakfast, lunch, and dinner_, he almost said. Between his lack of appetite and how weird everything seemed to taste, eating had quickly become a chore. The prednisone, the "P" in his chemo regimen, was supposed to help with that, but hadn't seemed to have much impact so far. Since not eating wasn't an option, the small, tasteless crackers were the least offensive thing he'd found to snack on. Plus, they were fish and had little smiles, and he got to bite their heads off. Couldn't go wrong there.

He held the bag out to Abby. "Fishies. Want one?"

She took a few and popped them into her mouth, then made a face. "Tony, what _are _these?"

"They're fishy crackers, Abs."

"I didn't know they made unsalted Goldfish."

"I'm watching my sodium. It's never too early to care about your blood pressure."

"Tony, your blood pressure's always been low."

"See? It's working." They both started to laugh, until Tony suddenly burst into a fit of coughing. Abby looked at him, eyes wide with fear. "Tony?"

"I'm...fine..." he managed between coughs. "Just...swallowed wrong...."

"Here," she said, quickly handing him the Caf-Pow she'd been holding. Tony waited until the spasm subsided slightly, then took a long drink of the cool liquid.

The pain seared through his mouth and into his throat like a brushfire. He dropped the cup, the soda splashing across the floor as it hit the ground. He couldn't speak for a moment, then finally let out a low, soft, "_Shit!_"

Abby was at his side instantly. "Tony, what's wrong? Stay here, I'll get Gibbs. Or Ducky. Or both of them. Wait here." He caught her arm before she could bolt out of the lab.

"No," he managed. "I'm OK."

"You're not!" she cried.

"I am," he said, tension fading from his muscles as the worst of the pain ebbed away. "Hang on." He walked to the lab sink and quickly rinsed his mouth with clear water. Then he turned back to Abby, who still looked terrified. He smiled ruefully. "I didn't think. The acid, in the soda..."

"Oh, God." Abby suddenly understood. She put a hand to her mouth, wincing. "Your mouth."

"Yeah." The painful sores lining his mouth were yet another side effect from the chemo.

"I'm so sorry!" Tony could see tears in Abby's eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't think about it, Tony, I never should have given that to you. It's my fault!"

"Abby, it's not your fault. It's OK."

"No it's not." The panic was rising in her voice again. "I should have known better. I hurt you!"

"Abby, shhhh." Tony put his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. "You didn't hurt me."

The tears were falling now, soaking into his shirt, and he could tell she was trying to compose herself. "I'm really, really sorry." Her voice broke, and then she was sobbing in earnest. Tony held her, trying to soothe her as best he could, the pain in his mouth fading as he listened to her cry, as she said over and over "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Tony was pretty damn sure that this had nothing to do with the Caf-Pow. This was an Abby he hadn't seen since he'd been sick. She'd been with him as much as possible since her first visit to the hospital, and - first hesitations aside - she'd been surprisingly relaxed. Fiercely protective, but then no one was surprised at that; that was simply Abby.

Now, seeing how upset she was, Tony could have headslapped himself. He should have known how hard this would be on her, should have recognized that she had been dealing with everything just a little _too _well. Should have known that, despite her best efforts, something was going to give. He sat down on the high stool so that they were eye level, and forced her to look at him. "Abby? What's wrong?"

She shook her head fiercely. "No. No, no, no. You're the one who's sick, I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not the other way around."

"You always make me feel better, Abs. My turn now." She said nothing, just shook her head again, so he sighed and drew her back into his arms.

They stayed like that for awhile, neither of them moving. Finally, Tony heard her voice, so quiet that he almost couldn't make out the words. "I really hate this, Tony. It isn't fair, and I really, really hate it."

"I know. Me too."

A long pause, and then, even softer. "And I'm really scared."

"Shhhh." He hugged her tight.

_I know. Me too._


	10. Loss

_A/N: This chapter has not been cooperating at all; I finally decided I needed to post it so I could move on, but I have a feeling I'll be coming back to it at some point._

_Many thanks to KatKnits00 for the popsicle tip! And thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! Might be silly, but I always get excited when I see the little review notification email in my mail box. ;-) Woot._

* * *

_He says he looks in the mirror _  
_and he can't tell anymore _  
_who he really is and who they believe him to be, _  
_and he says he walks a thin line _  
_between what is and what could be _  
_and he's getting closer _  
_to something he can't understand _

_ -Lifehouse, "Fairy Tales and Castles"_

* * *

Tony opened one eye and glared blearily at his alarm clock. "Not interested," he muttered. The clock, little bastard that it was, took no notice and continued blaring until he finally reached out and slapped aimlessly at it, hitting the snooze button on the third try. Ah. Blissful silence.

He spent a few indulgent minutes with his head buried under the pillow, wishing for another hour or ten of sleep. Finally, he rolled over and began his usual inventory, trying to gauge the day that lay ahead. First thing in the morning was not always the most reliable measure, as Tony wasn't a morning person even when he was completely healthy. Still, it was nice to have a benchmark before launching into things. Energy level: eyes open, and seemingly willing to stay that way without the aid of toothpicks. Excellent. Mouth: sore, but manageable with a couple of the popsicles Abby had started stocking on Ducky's suggestion. Fever: not that he could tell, which meant his battered immune system probably hadn't been invaded by some bug while he slept. Appetite...not so much. Overall, though, he felt pretty decent.

A good day, then. _Enjoy it, _he thought. _Last days of freedom_. His cell counts had hit their lowest point and, according to his latest blood test, were rebounding fairly well - just in time to kill them off again. His next round of chemo was in two days, and the whole thing would start all over. Tony hated to admit how much he was dreading it. He knew he should have a better attitude; didn't everyone keep telling him to Think Positive? Considering how things had gone before, though, he felt justified in a little private pessimism, even if he was careful not to let it show. At least he knew enough this time to take the damn Zofran when it was offered.

Another glance at the clock told him it was time to hit the shower and get himself downstairs before Gibbs started pacing. The boss didn't wait well, and Tony's reluctance to emerge from the warm cocoon of sheets and blankets was outweighed by his determination not to be left behind. Sitting on the side of the bed, he yawned, stretched, scratched his head...

And stopped.

_Oh, shit._

Tony stared at the small tuft of dark hair that had come out in his hand, and felt his stomach clench. He'd known it was coming; he'd known from the beginning that, with the type of chemo he was on, losing his hair was pretty much a done deal. For the past few days, he'd mostly been able to ignore the fine dusting on his pillow in the morning, the extra that swirled down the drain after a shower. No big deal. Not even noticeable. But this...it was pretty hard to ignore when it came off in his goddamn _hand_. He tugged experimentally at another small chunk of hair. Most of it, too, came away.

_Quit pulling at it, then, you idiot!_

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the dark strands between his fingers. What now? Cut it? Shave it? Wear a hat? Ignore it? What the hell did it matter? Whatever he did, he couldn't _hide_ it, and with that option out of the running, he had no idea what to do next. Somehow, he'd thought it would seem obvious when the time came, that he would miraculously know just how to handle it, that maybe he would hardly even notice. It had been wishful thinking, and he should have known better.

He tried to force himself to get up, get moving, take a shower, _something_. Gibbs would be waiting. He had work to do. He couldn't sit in this room for the next year and wait till it was over. Nothing, though, was enough to override the feel of the hair in his hand, the numbness that had settled over his limbs. So he sat. And stared.

* * *

Gibbs laid the paper down next to his coffee and checked his watch again. Ten till, and still no signs of life from Tony's room. He fiddled with the arm of his glasses, trying to talk himself out of going up to check on him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Tony hadn't missed a day of work since he'd been back, and whether he rode with Gibbs or drove himself, he was in the office by 8 without fail. It didn't always take a glare from Gibbs to get him to rest during the day; a couple of times, when his cell counts were falling and the fatigue was at its worst, he didn't even make it to his desk before going straight to Abby's lab and falling asleep on her futon. But he was there, every single day.

Gibbs had mentioned it once, on one of the straight-to-sleep days:  
_  
"Tony, you don't have to do this." He had found Tony at his desk in the late afternoon, head propped on his hand, looking as though he was on the fourth day of a three day pass._

_Tony didn't look up from the report he was trying to wade through. "Yes, I do."_

_"It's not weakness," Gibbs said after a moment, "taking time out. You know that, don't you?"_

_Tony tensed, his jaw set. "Sure. I know," he said, just a beat too late to be believable. So that was it._

_"Tony, there's nothing wrong with - "_

_"Yes. There is."_

He had refused to discuss it further, and in the silence, Gibbs had heard his own voice saying, "Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness." He'd said it, God only knew how often. Like it was the worst possible thing one could do. How many other things had Tony come to believe showed weakness? And how horrible a thing had weakness become in his mind? _How much of this is because of me?_

Gibbs had been tempted, a few times, to put a stop to it. He was Tony's boss, after all; if Gibbs ordered him to take sick leave, Tony would have to take sick leave. But even though it may have been the prudent course of action, Gibbs knew it would backfire, badly. Tony would push even harder to prove he was healthy enough to work; either that, or he would take it as a message that he wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, and that would lead him down a very dangerous path. Gibbs could tell that he had been right from the beginning - Tony _did_ need to be there, needed something else to focus on. Morale was important. Sometimes, more important than caution.

So Tony was there, every day, and along the way they'd established a fairly comfortable routine. Gibbs kept the _How are you feeling?_ to a minimum, and he'd learned to read Tony's responses. "Pretty good" meant just that; "Fine" with a shrug meant "OK"; "Fine" with a tight smile meant "Quit asking"; and "OK" meant "Like hell". Once he'd worked out the code, it was pretty easy. Generally, Gibbs tried to keep his mouth shut unless he saw something that worried him more than usual. Instead, he checked in with Abby, who was an excellent source of information. Tony was extremely tolerant of her tendency to mother him, and Abby could translate Tony's bullshit like it was her native language.

Gibbs checked his watch again. Five till. He listened carefully but there was nothing; no shower running, no doors opening, not even footsteps on the floor above. Had Tony not been so ridiculously determined to get to the office every day, Gibbs would have thought - hoped - that Tony had done the rational thing and actually taken a day to get some rest. But he knew better. And he was worried.

He drained the rest of the coffee from the mug and set it back on the table, then headed up the stairs. Ordinarily he would have hollered up the staircase, but if Tony was in a position where he could jump when Gibbs yelled...well, he'd have already been moving and there would be no need to yell in the first place. As he climbed the stairs, Gibbs tried not to think of all the possibilities. Tony was sick, too sick to get out of bed; he'd fallen and hit his head; he'd passed out when he tried to get up. _Get a grip_, he told himself. _He overslept._ Once a parent, always a parent; his mind seemed to go right to the worst case scenario. Tony may not technically have been a kid, or _his_ kid, but that minor detail didn't seem to matter.

Gibbs stopped outside Tony's door and stood there for a moment, listening for some sign of life from within the room. Nothing. He knocked once, then again. Still nothing. Heart racing, he eased the door open, bracing himself, not certain what he would find.

Tony sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Gibbs, still in a pair of faded, worn pajama pants. Seeing that he was a) conscious, and b) upright, Gibbs was relieved enough to entertain the idea of throttling Tony for scaring the crap out of him. Then he took a closer look at the younger man. He was leaning forward, and Gibbs couldn't help noticing the clear definition of his ribs and shoulder blades. _He's lost more weight. Need to do something about that._ Tony was looking down, staring at something in his hand, and Gibbs couldn't see his face. "Tony?" No response. Louder, more forcefully: "DiNozzo!"

Tony started, as if he'd been under hypnosis and Gibbs had just snapped his fingers. His hand clenched shut, and he turned to face Gibbs. "Sorry! Sorry, Boss. Didn't hear you. What time is it? Give me a few minutes, I'll get it together..."

He was talking quickly, too quickly, and the fevered look in his eyes renewed Gibbs' worry. He placed a hand on Tony's shoulder to stop him from getting up, and sat on the bed beside him. "What's wrong, Tony?"

"Nothing," Tony said quickly. "Nothing's wrong, just running late, you know me and mornings really don't get along - I'll be ready to go in ten." He tried to stand up, but Gibbs didn't move his hand from Tony's shoulder.

"Try again." He fixed Tony with the level gaze that he knew the team called the _Gibbs stare_. Hell, whatever worked. "What's wrong?"

Tony sat for a moment, looking uncertain. Then, he opened his hand to display a small clump of dark hair.

Gibbs looked at it, then at Tony's face. "All at once?"

Tony nodded.

He sighed. "Ah hell, Tony."

"Thought I was ready for it," Tony said with a shaky half-smile. "Guess I wasn't as ready as I thought. I knew it was gonna happen, eventually...just, you know, when it did..." He shrugged. "I'm being ridiculous. I mean, it's just hair, right? It'll grow back. I should worry about the chemo, the fact that my immune system is getting shredded, that maybe none of this is gonna work at all. This?" He held up his hand. "This is the _last _thing I should be worried about."

Tony knew he was rambling. How could he explain it? How it wasn't about the damn _hair_, but about one more piece of something resembling normal that had been ripped away. One more way he was marked. One more reminder, every time he looked in the mirror, or saw it reflected in someone's eyes, that he was sick. One more thing to set him apart.

"At least," he finally said, "till now I looked normal. Mostly," he added under his breath. "Even if I felt like shit, I looked like me. Now..." He shook his head. He wasn't making sense, not even to himself. "It's stupid. Never mind. We should go."

"It's not stupid, Tony," Gibbs said quietly.

Tony didn't buy it. "No? Because it sure sounds stupid to me. This isn't supposed to be the hard part."

"Why not?"

He couldn't answer.

"It's all hard," Gibbs said. "All of it. You don't need me to tell you that."

"It shouldn't be important," Tony persisted. "It's just that it's one more thing..."

"That you can't control."

Tony stared at him, then nodded slowly, as if realizing that fact for the first time himself. He stared at the hair in his hand for awhile, not trusting his voice. Finally, he said, "So what am I supposed to do?"

"You keep going," Gibbs said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "You worry about the stuff you can control, and you try to let the rest of it go."

Tony laughed harshly. "Sure, that's easy to say. You ever tried it?"

Gibbs' face clouded. "Yeah, DiNozzo. I have. Never said I was any good at it."

Watching his boss, Tony realized exactly what he'd just said. _Shannon. Kelly._ Even Kate, taking the bullet that Gibbs believed should have been his. The things Gibbs had had to put behind him would have broken many men, and Tony was well aware he didn't know the half of it.

"Boss, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't worry about it." Gibbs absently patted Tony's shoulder, and stood. "Wait here."

Tony waited. _Way to go. He was trying to help, and you threw it in his face. _He deserved more than a headslap for that one, and instead got a pat on the shoulder and a "Don't worry about it." Somehow, that made him feel worse.

Gibbs came back holding an NCIS cap. "Saved this for you." He stuck it on Tony's head. "Should be pretty well broken in. Took you three months, didn't it?"

"Thanks..." Confused, Tony looked up at Gibbs. He noticed a strange stream of light filtering through the brim of the cap. "Wait a sec..." He stuck his finger through a hole in the brim. A hole just the right size for a bullet. "You saved this?"

"Ziva traded it in. Can't imagine why."

Tony laughed, for real this time, and Gibbs noticed that some of the darkness had retreated from his face. "I never figured you for a pack rat, boss."

"Only the important stuff, DiNozzo." Gibbs headed out the door. "You coming?"


	11. Solitaire

_A/N: Writer's block officially sucks. ;-) Thank you guys so much for the encouragement on the last chapter, and being patient with the slow update on this one!_

* * *

_Secure yourself to heaven  
Hold on tight the night has come  
Fasten up your earthly burdens, you have just begun_

_-Indigo Girls, "Secure Yourself"_

* * *

When the doors to autopsy swished open, Ducky didn't need to turn around to know who was there. "I don't have anything for you yet, Jethro," he said as Gibbs came in, not raising his eyes from the body on the table in front of him. The bruised and battered corpse would need a great deal more examination before yielding any of its secrets.

"Nothing?" Gibbs said, joining him at the autopsy table. He didn't seem too surprised, and Ducky figured this was more of a reconnaissance visit than a fact-finding mission.

"I just got the body an hour ago," Ducky replied. "The coroner's office seemed reluctant to release it. Until this morning, that is; the young man I spoke to was suddenly unusually accommodating. I imagine you called to encourage them?"

"Actually, no," Gibbs said. "That was Jen."

"Ah," Ducky smiled. "Our dear director can be quite persuasive when she has a mind to be."

"You have no idea," Gibbs said wryly. He'd been on the receiving end of Persuasive Jen more than once. "Any ideas on the cause of death?"

Gibbs sounded oddly distracted, and Ducky prudently chose not to remind his friend that he'd already said he had nothing. "I have plenty of ideas," he said, "but nothing concrete. For example, look at the bruises here, and here." Ducky indicated a deep purple swelling at the petty officer's temple, and another at the base of the skull. "Either of these blows could potentially have been fatal on its own, and that's not taking into account all of his other injuries. I simply won't know until I open him up."

Gibbs nodded. He walked slowly around the table, looking as if he was examining the body, but rather than his usual practice of bombarding the doctor with questions, he said nothing. There had to be another reason for his visit. "What's bothering you, Jethro?

"What makes you think something's bothering me?"

"You're still here, for one thing," Ducky said. "Normally you would be out the door as soon as I told you nothing had turned up."

"Just making sure I didn't miss anything at the scene," Gibbs replied. Further proof that something was up; Gibbs usually didn't second guess himself. He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes, and Ducky could see how tired his friend looked.

"I see." He waited, hoping Gibbs would say something on his own, but he remained maddeningly silent. Finally, Ducky said, "How is our Anthony doing? He started chemotherapy again yesterday, I believe?"

Gibbs shrugged. "It's going better than last time," he said. "He's still pretty sick, but Dr. Weiss seems to think it's normal." Whatever that meant. Gibbs had trouble understanding how any of this could be written off as _normal_. He rubbed his eyes, trying to stave off another headache. Tony had been admitted the previous afternoon, and despite his best attempts to get his boss to go home, Gibbs had been up with him most of the night. "I should be over there," he said, half to himself.

"You can't be in two places at once," Ducky said. "I'm sure Tony understands."

"I know," Gibbs said. He couldn't bring himself to admit that Tony wasn't the issue. He was secretly relieved not to be at the hospital for awhile, to instead be in a place he knew and doing something that made sense. Leaving that morning to come to the office had felt like he was escaping, and that fact weighed heavily on him.

He glanced towards the autopsy doors. "I need to go see what Abby's found." Still, he made no movement to leave; instead, he leaned against Ducky's desk, picking up the case file that lay on top of it and flipping through the pages without really seeing them. He didn't need to - he'd already been through the file twice.

"She'll call," Ducky said, joining Gibbs at the desk. Gibbs seemed agitated, and Ducky, thinking he was still concerned about not being at the hospital, said, "Jethro, Tony will be fine by himself for awhile."

"I know," Gibbs said again. "Hell, he might be better off." He tossed the file back on the desk. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

Ducky waited, not wanting to press him. Gibbs didn't often speak so openly, and Ducky didn't know if it was exhaustion, worry or something else that had caused him to open up now. Whatever it was, he feared that if he said anything, it would break the spell.

Gibbs had started pacing. "He's losing his hair now - did I tell you that? The other morning, he didn't come down when it was time to leave. Scared the hell out of me," he admitted. "That's when it started. I found him just sitting on his bed."

"At least you were there."

Gibbs shook his head. "Maybe so, but I don't know how much good it did. I had no idea what to say to him. I figured if I didn't make things worse, we were doing OK." Gibbs rubbed his eyes again, trying to clear his head. He was so damn tired. "I'm afraid of screwing this up, Duck. He asked me what he was supposed to do, and I didn't know what to tell him."

"Jethro." Ducky placed a hand on Gibbs' arm, forcing him to stop pacing, trying to make Gibbs listen. Gibbs, caught up in his own frenetic thoughts, didn't seem to notice.

"He deserves more than I can give him, Ducky. I don't know how to be what he needs. And now he's back in the hospital, and he's sick, and I can't help him."

"Jethro, listen to me." Ducky's normally quiet, genteel voice was suddenly very firm. "Tony doesn't need you to _be_ anything. He needs _you_. He doesn't expect you to fix this; he just needs to know you're not going anywhere."

"Of course I'm not going anywhere," Gibbs said, as if the very idea were ridiculous.

"Then you're doing everything you can. You're doing more than most people have in that young man's life."

"That's not saying much," Gibbs muttered.

"It's saying a hell of a lot," Ducky replied. "What more can you expect of yourself?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Gibbs just shook his head. "More than this, Duck," he said softly. "More than this."

* * *

_12:23 p.m._

Tony cleared the screen and began yet another game of solitaire. His record was 12 wins, 48 losses since 9 a.m., and that was including a break for lunch (such as it was), two misrouted phone calls, and a visit to Ducky. Those distractions had placed him one game behind in his unofficial tournament with McGee, and it was time to play catch-up.

The team hadn't had a case to speak of in nearly two weeks - not since Tony had returned after his second round of chemo. At first, none of them had minded. Even after the director had handed off the Anderssen case to another team, they had been thrown into three back-to-back murder investigations without day's rest in between. And of course, they were one man down, at least in the field. Each of them was emotionally and physically exhausted, and more than ready for a break.

Just not one that lasted two weeks.

Every last report had been written, proofed, edited, signed, and submitted. Their desks hadn't been so clean in months. Abby's lab had been completely scrubbed and inventoried. They were quickly running out of busy work, and just as quickly starting to go stir crazy. Gibbs had been hinting at putting them on cold cases if things didn't start to pick up, and for once, none of them had voiced a word of complaint.

Tony moved the black queen onto the red king and checked the clock. _12:25 p.m._ "Only two minutes?" he muttered. "You have to be kidding me."

"What?" McGee, focused on the game, didn't look up from his screen as he clicked away.

"Just musing on the passage of time, Probie. Don't let me distract you."

"You're washing philosophical, Tony?" Ziva looked up from her Sig, holding a spotless brush in the air.

"It's waxing, Ziva," Tony replied. "You do that after you wash. Speaking of which, are you cleaning your weapon _again_?"

"Yes," she said, returning to the brush.

Tony shook his head. _Red six to black seven. _"Ziva, you haven't fired it since the last time you cleaned it. Or the time before that. Or the time before _that_, come to think of it. I'm pretty sure it's clean."

"It calms my mind."

"What's to calm? We have no case. We have no potential case. At this rate we'll be sitting here writing reports about nothing until McGee gets a date with someone who doesn't have a goblin for an alter ego." _Sweet! Ace of spades._

"Exactly my point," Ziva said.

"Hey," McGee seemed wounded. "A goblin's not even a playable race - " He stopped abruptly, cheeks flushing bright red.

"My bad," Tony said, grinning. "A gnome, then."

McGee merely rolled his eyes, then pushed his chair back as his computer erupted in a fanfare. "Yes! Fourteen wins!"

_Dammit!_ "I bow to your mad solitaire skills, Probie." Having had enough of losing for the time being, Tony picked up the half-deflated mini basketball on his desk and tossed it at McGee. "Incoming!"

The ball thudded onto the desk in front of McGee, then fell into his lap. He scooped it up, turning it over in his hand. "What happened to this thing, Tony? It looks kind of...sad."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball, McGee." He held up his hands. "C'mon!"

McGee launched the ball back at Tony; his aim was either way off or a little _too_ good, as it went straight for Tony's head. Tony threw up a hand to grab it and bumped his cap, sending it flying under the desk. Immediately, he scrambled after it. He felt almost naked without it, somehow, now that his hair was completely gone. Ziva and McGee were both watching him when he came back up, settling the cap firmly on his head. They'd seen, he knew; both his head, and the faint panic he couldn't completely hide.

"You can leave it off, Tony," Ziva said hesitantly.

"Nah," he said, forcing a smile. "My head gets cold." Which was true. Not the whole truth, but it was all they were going to get. He tried to shrug it off but the easy camaraderie had been broken.

Gibbs, who had been on the phone, suddenly hung up and pulled open a desk drawer. "Gear up," he called, pulling out his gun and ID. "We have a missing lieutenant. Last seen in Rock Creek Park." Ziva and McGee all but bolted from their chairs, following Gibbs' lead and gathering their gear. Tony didn't move. The first couple of times the team had gone out since he'd been deskbound, he'd had to remind himself to stay put, all his instincts telling him to get moving or risk a headslap. Now he sat, itching to pull on his own jacket and follow them, and tried not to look as frustrated as he felt.

"We'll call in as soon as we have more information," Gibbs said as Ziva and McGee headed for the elevator. "Give us an hour or so; we should have enough for you to put out a BOLO and start running background checks. Did you eat?"

"What?" Tony said, confused by the sudden shift in topic.

"Did you eat? Lunch. Food."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Did you eat something other than crackers?" The guilty look on Tony's face answered the question. Gibbs looked exasperated. "Go let Abby know what's going on - tell her we'll have something to screw up her inventory pretty soon," he said. Grabbing the keys, he called over his shoulder, "And tell her I said to feed you!" He was gone before Tony could protest.

* * *

If for no other reason than to escape the silence of the bullpen, Tony did as he was instructed and made his way down to Abby's lab. As he approached the door, he stopped, brow wrinkled in confusion. The door was crisscrossed with yellow and black tape; once he was close enough to see what it was, he had to stifle a laugh.

"Um, Abs?" he called, spotting her pigtails on the other side of the lab. "Why is there biohazard tape blocking the doorway?"

Abby appeared from behind the counter, but she hung back, well away from the door. "Don't come in, Tony!"

"OK...mind telling me why?"

"I might be getting a cold. I don't want to give it to you."

"Abby -"

"No, really," she said. "Your cell counts are low right now, aren't they?"

"They're on their way back up, but -"

"But we can't risk it!"

"Abby." Tony sighed. "I can wear a mask - that's what it's for, you know."

"No way." She stifled a sneeze, then shook her head. "You hate the mask."

It was true. Had the mask been just uncomfortable, hot, and itchy, he'd have worn it like he'd been instructed, albeit grudgingly. But was more than that. Ever since the plague, having something covering his nose and mouth brought back the memory of lying in isolation, an oxygen mask on his face, trying not to drown in his own fluids. He could tolerate it for short periods when absolutely necessary, but tried to avoid it as much as possible.

Still, given the choice between wearing a mask and returning to his empty, silent desk... "I can handle it for a little while."

"Uh-uh." Abby looked thoughtful. "I could wear it, though. That should work. Hang on." She went to her own desk, pulled out a white mask, and slipped it on. Tony had already removed the biohazard tape by the time she came back. "There," she said, her voice muffled. "Better not get too close, though."

Tony smiled, making a show of keeping his distance. "Gibbs sent me to tell you that there should be evidence coming your way soon."

"I know," Abby said. "He called. Missing lieutenant, Rock Creek Park, right?"

"He called you?" Tony couldn't quite figure that one out. "But, he sent me down to tell you -"

"I _know_. He also said," she began, motioning him to follow her to her desk, "that you hadn't eaten lunch." She handed him a freshly made peanut butter sandwich. "Here. Peanut butter's good for you. Lots of protein."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Abby, I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

"Tony, do not argue with me," Abby glared at him, hands on her hips. "I have a mission from the bossman, and he outranks you."

"You know we're not in the military, right? No one technically has a rank around here."

"Doesn't matter. He still outranks you. Eat."

Realizing that he was not going to win this argument, Tony gave in. He took a bite of the sandwich, and gave Abby a pointed look as if to say _There, OK? _

She looked satisfied. "Thank you."

They returned to the main lab; Tony settled on a stool and Abby stood what she considered a safe distance away, fiddling with something on her computer screen. "You have tests this afternoon, don't you?"

Tony swallowed a bite of his sandwich, washing it down with a long drink from a bottle of water. "Yeah, some blood tests and another bone marrow biopsy." He remembered the feel of the needle crunching into his hip bone, and tried to suppress a shudder, hoping Abby wouldn't notice.

Abby being Abby, of course, had been watching more closely than he'd thought. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"That's sweet, Abs, but it's OK. I'll be fine. It's just routine, making sure the chemo's working and all that." Truth be told, he would have loved the company, but he didn't want Abby to feel like she needed to babysit him. "Plus, Gibbs is going to need you here this afternoon - I wouldn't want to be the one to explain to him why his evidence is sitting here unprocessed."

"He wouldn't mind," she said, not quite ready to let it go.

"Maybe not, but let's not find out," Tony said. He took a final bite of his sandwich, then pushed the empty plate aside. "It's not a big deal."

"If you say so." Abby looked like she had more to say, but her face suddenly crumpled, and a tiny sneeze came from behind the mask. "You should probably go," she said reluctantly, moving a couple of steps further away. "And don't worry - I wore gloves when I made your lunch."

"Abby..." Tony was about to reassure her that she wouldn't get him sick, but she was still wearing her _Do Not Argue With Abby_ face, visible even with the mask on. "OK, I'm going. Thanks for the sandwich."

She waved as he left, and he slowly headed back to his desk to wait for the team to call in. Slouching in his chair, he began yet another game of solitaire. It was better than doing nothing, and certainly better than thinking about the tests he'd be undergoing in a few hours. He'd been honest with Abby; they _were_ routine, but it didn't mean he was looking forward to them. Tony tried his best to push aside the nagging worry in the back of his mind. It was the giant needle, he told himself. It would freak anyone out. That was all it was.

It had to be.


	12. Call

_A/N: This is my I-am-not-a-doctor side showing through. When I initially figured out the staging for this, I thought Tony would be in stage 2 since there was no lymph node involvement below the abdomen. However, I just found some info that says if the disease presents with a mediastinal mass (which Tony's did, causing the shortness of breath), it should actually be stage 3. So, since the shortness of breath was actually important in the story, I'm going to go with that._

_And if you're reading this story after I went back and fixed it in the earlier chapters, ignore everything I just said. ;-)_

* * *

_And that's all that I need, yeah_  
_Someone else to cling to, yeah_  
_Someone I can lean on_  
_Until I don't need to_

_-Matchbox 20, "All I Need"_

* * *

Tony looked at his watch, then glanced over at Gibbs. He needed to leave, and soon, but Gibbs showed no signs of budging from his desk anytime in the next millennium. And for a certain Anthony DiNozzo, who needed to slip out without being seen by a certain Leroy Jethro Gibbs, that was a problem.  
_  
C'mon, Boss. Don't you ever have to pee? _Tony thought about texting Abby, getting her to call up to the bullpen and ask Gibbs come down on some pretext or another - a Caf-Pow refill, maybe. But that would take too long to explain, and besides, if Abby needed a refill, Gibbs would have already gotten her one. The way he always knew when she'd run out...it was plain spooky.

Tony scanned the bullpen, searching for some hidden way out that had escaped his notice. He was down to hoping for a trapdoor to suddenly appear beneath his desk. Another check of the watch. _Please, Boss... _He shifted in his chair. He'd have to leave soon, and if Gibbs didn't leave first...

"You got a pressing appointment, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said, not needing to look up to catch his senior field agent starting to fidget.

He did have an appointment, actually, and that was the problem. The call had come just after he'd arrived at the office that morning - his test results were in, and Dr. Weiss wanted to see him. Immediately. Tony figured - he hoped - she was being overcautious, or maybe even had good news. Remission, even - it could happen after two rounds. Unlikely, but not impossible. Still, until he knew what was going on, he was not about to issue a blanket invitation for a little field trip over to the hospital.

"No, Boss, just thought I'd take an early lunch."

"I can go with you," Ziva said. She stood up and grabbed her purse, looking glad to have an excuse to escape the office. More than any of them, Ziva did not do desk work well. Tony figured it was only her Mossad training that kept her from out-fidgeting him.

"No, it's OK, Ziva. You don't have to," Tony said, hoping to head her off at the pass. "I have to make a quick stop - I don't want to hold you up."

"It is not a problem," Ziva said, but Gibbs cut her off, eying Tony suspiciously.

"Stop where, DiNozzo?"

He was about to give a typical glib DiNozzo response, but something in Gibbs' tone made him think better of it. "Hospital. Just going to pick up my test results. Run in, run out kinda thing."

Gibbs looked skeptical. "I thought your doctor was going to go over those with you when you checked in next week."

_Bluff it out_. "Yeah, she said she could do it then, or I could pick them up earlier. I figured, since I was going to be out anyway, I might as well swing by."

A slow nod from Gibbs. He didn't look impressed. "Go with him, Ziva."

"Ziva, you don't have to - "

"DiNozzo..." A low warning from Gibbs.

"I _want _to," Ziva cut in, taking Tony by the arm and steering him towards the elevator before the two men could get themselves into a world-class pissing match. When Gibbs and Tony decided to dig their heels in at the same time, it was never pretty, and they were both unusually on edge today.

Tony thought quickly, trying to come up with some excuse for going alone, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't raise too many questions. He'd have to take Ziva, and come up with some way to keep her occupied while he talked to Dr. Weiss. He checked his watch again. Whatever he was going to do, he'd better do it fast: Dr. Weiss was expecting him at noon. "OK," he said, "but I get to pick the restaurant for lunch."

"Of course," Ziva said. She plucked the keys out of his hand as the elevator doors slid shut. "And _I_ am driving."

Tony gulped. Maybe he didn't have to worry about what Dr. Weiss was going to say.

* * *

"Ziva, you can wait here," Tony said when his name was called. "This shouldn't take long."

"I can come with you if you want."

"Nah, I'm fine. I'll be right out."

"Are you sure, Tony?"

Tony sighed. "Why does no one believe me?" Ziva didn't answer, simply gave him a very pointed stare, to which he couldn't help grinning. "OK, fine. You could always go get something to eat and come back for me. I don't want you to starve to death."

"I think I'll survive," she said. "I will wait here." As Tony followed the nurse back into the office, Ziva was already flipping through a six-month old issue of Cosmo and looking faintly disgusted. Maybe he should have brought her the most recent GSM to keep her busy.

Then again, she'd probably already read it.

As soon as he saw Dr. Weiss's face, Tony knew that his little far-fetched fantasies of being in remission were just that - fantasies. He'd seen that grim look from her before, and it never heralded anything good. He'd actually wondered about that - shouldn't an oncologist have a better poker face? "Have a seat, Tony," she said, and he did, sinking into one of her squishy leather chairs. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad." _Tired. Crappy. Sick. Worn-out. Want me to pull out my thesaurus?_

She nodded, opening a thick file on her desk that Tony belatedly realized was his. There was that much info on him floating around the hospital? "That's not my permanent record, is it?" he joked, and Dr. Weiss gave him a faint smile.

"No, we keep those under lock and key, although yours did make for some pretty interesting reading."

"You mean that little incident with the cherry bomb in the toilet? I was totally framed." She chuckled, but quickly grew serious again, and Tony felt a familiar feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say you're _not_ about to tell me I'm in remission," he said, trying to keep his tone light.

"I wish I was, Tony," she said. She studied him for a second, then said, "Are you here by yourself? Did your boss come with you?"

"Gibbs? No, he didn't," Tony said. He chose not to mention Ziva in the waiting room. What could she do - hold his hand? "Just tell me what's going on."

"Alright," she said. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this, Tony."

"You never have," he replied.

She smiled. "I probably could, if you want me to."

"You know I don't." She'd always been straight with him, for which he was grateful.

"I know," she said. "OK, then. Here's the situation. The cancer's spreading. We're seeing traces in your bone marrow, and your last PET scan showed some hot spots in the lymph nodes in your lower abdomen. It's advancing more quickly than we would have predicted based on the initial presentation - technically, you've moved from stage 3 to stage 4."

Tony felt the blood drain from his face. He'd known, of course he'd known something like this was coming, and yet her words still blindsided him. Funny. He'd have thought hearing this kind of news would get easier as he went along. Maybe he hadn't practiced enough.

"So," he heard himself saying, "what you're telling me is, I'm screwed." He'd meant it as a joke, but somehow, it didn't come out that way. It was hard to sound light and easy when he could barely get the words out.

"No, Tony, not in the least. What I'm telling you is that we need to switch gears. Remember, we said from the beginning that your chemo protocol would depend on how the disease responds, right?" He nodded. "That's what we're doing. We're looking at how the disease is responding and we're making adjustments."

"But you said it's spreading." He was surprised to feel anger welling up inside of him. How, after all he'd put his body through over the last several weeks, how in the hell could it be getting worse? Not better yet, OK, fine, he'd known that could - would - take awhile. But _worse?_ "Doesn't that mean that all of this - " he gestured aimlessly "- has been completely pointless? Feeling like hell, losing my hair, wanting to sleep 20 hours a day - for no reason at all?"

"No." Dr. Weiss sounded unusually firm, and she came around the desk to take the chair next to Tony. "The mass in your chest is shrinking like we'd hoped to see, so the radiation is working there. The chemo has most likely kept things from advancing even further than they have." She looked at him, trying to make him meet her eyes. "Tony, all this means is we're going to have to start hitting harder to get ahead of the lymphoma. And we have plenty of ways to do that."

Harder. He didn't know if he could take _harder_. "What - " His mouth was dry, and the word came out as barely more than a whisper. He tried again. "What kind of ways?"

"A different chemo protocol, to start," she said. "There's been some good success with ones that are usually for ALL - acute lymphocytic leukemia," she said to Tony's questioning look. "There are a lot of similarities in the disease profiles, especially with bone marrow involvement." He nodded slowly. "And we need to start today."

That made it through the fog. "Today?"

"Yes, today." Dr. Weiss said. "And no, Tony, you can't go on back to the office, finish up a few things, get packed, and come back tomorrow morning." Tony couldn't help a slight smile. She _had_ gotten to know him pretty well. "I'm not trying to scare you, but this cannot wait any longer than absolutely necessary. There are other treatment possibilities that we'll discuss, but this is where we need to start. I want you admitted and starting the new regimen immediately."

Immediately. It was actually a little easier to think in terms of _immediately_. First things first. Ziva was waiting; he'd have to let her know to leave without him. She'd be suspicious, but he could explain it easily enough. Something about his cell counts responding faster than they'd thought and they wanted to do the next round of chemo now since he was doing so well. He almost laughed at that. _Yes, you're doing SO well, DiNozzo._

And Gibbs...that might be harder, but he could just have Ziva go on back to the office, and tell Gibbs...whatever. He'd call Gibbs later, after he finished the first treatment and was settled in a room, ready to start the whole mess over again. That could work.

_Sure. It'll work great. In Happyland, which is apparently where you're living._ Back out in the real world, as soon Ziva told him what was going on, Gibbs would either be down at the hospital or on the phone chewing someone's ass out. Most likely Tony's. That was assuming he could get Ziva to leave in the first place, which was doubtful. He could probably strongarm her if he had to, but that in and of itself would create too many questions, and for what? He'd buy himself a few hours, maybe.

_You have to call him. _

"Tony." Dr. Weiss was trying to get his attention, but he barely heard her. He didn't want to do it. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to leave well enough alone; to stay put and listen to what Dr. Weiss was saying; to keep going like he had been and just take care of it himself, and come up with a way to explain it to Gibbs later. He could do it.

_DiNozzos don't ask for help._

_Maybe this one does._

He pushed that voice away as quickly as it had arrived. _Deal with it_, he told himself fiercely. He could handle this alone. The words went around and around in his head..._alone...DiNozzos don't ask...you can do it alone..._ Yet, even as he tried to convince himself of that fact, he knew it was a moot point. Gibbs wasn't going to give him the option.

OK, he'd call him. It was the rational thing to do. He was being practical, wasn't he? And it wasn't as if he _needed_ someone with him. It just made sense to let Gibbs know now. Avoid a lot of questions later. Hell, avoid a pissed-off Gibbs. That was definitely the safest way to go.

So, if it was just practical, then why did the very idea of having Gibbs there, listening to all this with him, asking questions in that get-shit-done voice, make him feel so relieved?

"Tony?" Dr. Weiss touched his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, closing around his cell.

"Can you hang on a minute?" he said, getting to his feet. "I need to make a call."


	13. Answer

_  
His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, closing around his cell._

_"Can you hang on a minute?" he said, getting to his feet. "I need to make a call."_

* * *

"Of course," Dr. Weiss said. "Would you like me to step out?"

"No, that's OK," Tony said. It might not hurt to have a witness - keep him from chickening out. "It'll only take a second." He flipped the phone open before he had a chance to think about it any more, and hit the speed dial. _C'mon, Boss,_ he thought, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. _Pick up. I don't know if I can do this again._

"Yeah, Gibbs." Tony tensed at the sound of the preoccupied voice on the other end of the line. Gibbs sounded like he was surrounded by people talking, and he could hear traffic noises in the background. "I'll be right there, McGee," Gibbs called, away from the mouthpiece.

"Boss, it's me."

"DiNozzo?" Tony couldn't tell if he sounded relieved or annoyed. Probably a little of both. "Where the hell are you two?" _Nope, mostly annoyed._

"We're still - "

Gibbs cut him off. "Call came in right after you left. Double homicide, base housing. Somehow the local LEOs got mixed up in it - it's a damn mess. I need Ziva over here and you back at the office, now."

Tony paused. There it was - his reason to delay telling Gibbs. It was so tempting. Gibbs couldn't do anything now anyway, right? No sense upsetting him for no reason. "Boss, I..." He paused, trying to figure out what to do.

"Is that a problem, DiNozzo?" Gibbs barked.

"Yes," Tony blurted out. He didn't realize how hard he was gripping the phone until he felt the plastic starting to give under his fingers. He forced himself to relax. "We're still at the hospital. I can't leave yet. The test results..." He swallowed hard, willing himself to just keep talking.

Gibbs didn't give him a chance. Barely missing a beat, he said, "I'm on my way. Where are you?"

"Boss, _no_. I didn't realize you were at a scene -"

"Weiss's office?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine. I'll send Ziva over - can McGee call her with the address?"

"DiNozzo, I _said_ I am on my way! Now shut up and tell me where you are."

Tony closed his eyes. Gibbs clearly wasn't going to listen to his protests. "Dr. Weiss's office."

"OK. Sit tight. I'll be there in ten." The line went dead before Tony could argue with him any further. Slowly, he closed the phone and dropped it back into his pocket, hand lingering there for a moment, wondering if he should call Gibbs back, try to talk him out of coming.

"I think that was very wise, Tony," Dr. Weiss said gently.

Tony had almost forgotten she was there. "No, it wasn't." It was plain selfish, that's what it was. "He's leaving a crime scene. Why the hell would he do that?" he said, half to himself.

"He cares about you."

Tony looked at her blankly. What did that have to do with anything? "It's a double homicide. He should be there. _I_ should be there."

"No, you shouldn't," she said firmly. "And he obviously thinks it's more important to be here right now."

"It isn't," he said vehemently. "He can't _do_ anything here." Tony's head was swimming, and he berated himself for even thinking about calling Gibbs, let alone actually doing it. He should have known there was a possibility that Gibbs would be at a scene, and even if he hadn't thought of it in advance, he should have shut his mouth as soon as he realized his boss wasn't in the office. He had no right to pull him away from a crime scene. _God, you're a selfish ass, DiNozzo!_

"Tony, I've seen the two of you together. He cares about you very much, and he wants to support you. Let him."

Tony shook his head. Even after the past couple of months, he still had so much trouble with that idea. He should be able to support himself. He always had; there had never been another option. "I should tell Ziva to go on," he said, avoiding further discussion. "McGee might have called her already, though. Let me go check." He started to get up, needing to escape, but Dr. Weiss motioned for him to stay seated and hit the intercom button on her phone.

"Angela, is there a young lady waiting out there? She came in with Tony."

"Dark hair, green jacket?" Dr. Weiss looked at Tony, who nodded confirmation.

"Yes, that's right."

"She just left." The receptionist sounded like she was trying to hide her amusement. "She received a phone call and said she had to leave. She told me to tell Mr. DiNozzo to stay here until she calls him, or she will...I think she said, 'Kiss his ass into next week.'"

Tony couldn't help laughing. "She meant 'kick'," he called so that Angela could hear him. "Idioms and Ziva don't get along well."

"Ah." Angela was clearly trying not to giggle. "Thanks for clearing that up."

"Thanks, Angela," Dr. Weiss said, smiling herself as she disconnected the intercom.

"She couldn't actually kick my ass," Tony told her. _Actually, right now she probably could._

"Of course not," the doctor said, playing along.

"But she does know 18 different ways to kill you with a paperclip." He really had to get out of there. He stood, then stopped, fighting a wave of dizziness. _Dammit!_

"Are you alright?" Dr. Weiss started to get up as Tony held on to the back of the chair to steady himself.

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. He was so tired of this, all the little reminders that, even when he felt relatively good, he was still sick. That something as simple as getting out of a chair could actually require thought. _And this is going to get worse?_ "I'll be right back." He let himself out and headed down the hall towards the restroom. Maybe splashing a little water on his face would help clear his head.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Tony was sitting in the doctor's office flipping through an ancient copy of _People_, trying to distract himself. By unspoken agreement, they were waiting for Gibbs to arrive before continuing the conversation, and Tony was torn between dreading what else the doctor might have to tell him, and dreading facing what was sure to be a very pissed-off Gibbs. Ziva had called twice, but he'd let it roll over to voicemail, not knowing what to tell her quite yet.

"You need some new magazines," he said absently. "Brad and Jen are on the cover of this one."

The intercom sounded, and Angela's voice echoed over the speaker. "Agent Gibbs is on his way back. I asked him to wait until I called you, but -"

She hadn't even finished when there was a perfunctory knock at the door. Gibbs didn't wait for a reply before bursting in. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

Oh, yes. This was most definitely a pissed-off Gibbs. "Boss." Tony couldn't bring himself to turn around; could barely get the word out. Gibbs moved behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders. A gentle squeeze seemed to say that he wasn't upset with Tony, but that couldn't be right. More likely, Tony was just numb, not feeling the force behind it as he usually would. He finally twisted around to look up at Gibbs, and felt his throat tighten.

He'd seen Gibbs look this way before. His jaw was set, carefully trying to mask the anger that his eyes couldn't quite hide. His entire body was tensed, ready to move at a second's notice, and there was an undercurrent of danger beneath the steady surface. Yes, he had seen that look before, but usually on the rare occasion that someone was seriously threatening Abby. The one that said Gibbs would move heaven and earth to keep her safe. But Tony had never, ever seen it in relation to himself.  
_  
You will have to come through me to hurt him, and it will __**not**_ _turn out well for you. _

"Agent Gibbs. Please, have a seat," Dr. Weiss said.

Gibbs didn't move. "What is going on?" he repeated slowly. He spoke quietly, but left no doubt that he _would_ get an answer to his question.

"Please, Boss," Tony said quietly. Gibbs looked down at him, then gave his shoulder one final squeeze before silently taking the chair at his side. Tony still couldn't bring himself to look Gibbs in the eye. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. You didn't have to come."

Gibbs wasn't having any of it. "DiNozzo..."

"It's gotten worse," Tony finally said. "It's spreading."

Gibbs fixed Dr. Weiss with a piercing stare. "Is that true?" His tone was low, dangerous.

"Unfortunately, it is," she said. She didn't seem the least bit intimidated, which Gibbs had to grudgingly respect. "It's spread to Tony's bone marrow and there appear to be a few very small tumors in his lower abdomen. We need to do a couple of additional tests to see if it's gone any further than that."

Gibbs leaned forward in his chair. "Am I missing something? He's been on chemo for weeks, and you're saying that it hasn't helped?"

"No - like I explained to Tony, it doesn't mean that the chemo hasn't had an effect."

"Then what _does_ it mean?"

"It means that the cancer is more aggressive than we originally thought, and we need to be more aggressive in our response. Tony and I have talked about this before. We need to adjust his treatment based on the course of the disease."

Gibbs nodded, leaning back. Only someone who knew him well would have been able to tell that his calm front was just that - a front. Tony knew that, had the doctor not been present, Gibbs would have had a few very Marine-worthy comments to make. Instead, he merely said, "More chemo? Stronger?"

"To begin with, yes. We're going to move to a high-dose regimen called hyper-CVAD that's also used in certain types of leukemia. It's not easy to handle but is likely to be effective, especially considering the bone marrow involvement. From there we'll closely monitor his response and continue to make changes and try other combinations as needed."

"What about a stem cell transplant?" Gibbs noticed Tony's quizzical look. "What? You think I don't know how to use Google?"

"Um...actually, yeah." Tony couldn't help his surprise. Gibbs didn't do computers, not unless he had to.

Gibbs shrugged. "McGee showed me."

"You looked this up?"

"Well, yeah, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, like it was a given. He turned back to Dr. Weiss. "So?"

"It's an option," she said. "It may not be necessary, but we need to start thinking that way. However, we would also start with high-dose chemotherapy to get him into remission before a transplant, so we're already heading in the right direction. Luckily, Tony is strong and was generally healthy before this began, which is to our advantage when it comes to the level of chemo his body can handle. I told Tony that we would need to admit him and start this afternoon."

"I'm sure he was thrilled to hear that," Gibbs said wryly.

They were talking like he wasn't even there. Tony felt like waving a hand in front of both of their faces. _Hello! I'm right here! Remember me? _"I'm psyched," he said instead. "I bet Ziva will bring me my Spiderman PJs if I ask nicely."

Gibbs looked over at him. "What happened to the Wonder Woman ones?"

"McGee stole them."

"Tony," Dr. Weiss said. "We'll go over the details of the new protocol once we get you admitted, but do you have any questions for me now?"

He had plenty of questions, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answers. "Nope. Let's just go." He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to stop their trembling. The idea of more intense chemo, _much_ more intense to hear Dr. Weiss tell it, had him terrified. They hadn't even started yet, and Tony thought he could already feel nausea starting to build. He really didn't know how much more _intense_ he could handle.

Gibbs caught Tony's eye, and could tell that he was trying to fight a growing panic. "Could you give us a minute?" he said to Dr. Weiss.

"Of course. I'll get the paperwork going for your admission." She left, closing the door softly behind her.

Gibbs turned his chair so that he was facing Tony directly. "Are you alright?"

His voice, so firm and matter-of-fact since he'd walked in the door, was now uncharacteristically gentle. Tony was embarrassed to feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he blinked quickly, forcing them back. "Sure. I'm actually feeling OK," he said, deliberately misunderstanding Gibbs' question.

Gibbs wasn't having any of it. "You know what I mean."

He did know, and Gibbs wasn't going to let him get around it. Tony looked down. "I don't know if I can do this."

"You can."

Gibbs made it sound like a foregone conclusion, a confidence that Tony did not share. "I know, I know," he sighed. "I don't have a choice."

"No," Gibbs said. "But it wouldn't matter if you did. I know you - you don't take the easy way out, Tony. Not when it's important."

_Oh, but I want to. I really, really want to._ Tony stood, pulling away from Gibbs' penetrating look. "Yeah. It'll be fine. You should go back to the scene."

"Tony - "

"I'll be fine by myself."

"Tony - "

"Ziva's gonna shoot one of the cops if you're not there to stop her."d

"DiNozzo!"

"What?"

"Shut up."

Tony smiled. "Shutting up, Boss."

* * *

_A/N: Hope this was believable. I went back and forth, but in the end I really __could see Gibbs leaving a crime scene for Tony, if Tony actually went so far as to call him._

_Many, many thanks to RuthLeilani for the medical info! Things are going to get harder for Tony. I'll try my best to keep a balance, though, and I think he will be stronger for it, though it may mean reexamining his definition of strength. A few people have asked about the outcome. I'll be glad to tell you flat out if you want. I'd probably want to know myself, and as far as I'm concerned, it's not about keeping the end a surprise, it's about how you get there._

_As always, HUGE thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	14. Breathing

_A/N: Finally, __finally got this one hammered out! It was not working and playing well with others. ;-)_

_I was seriously floored by the response to that last chapter. Thank you guys a million times over for reviewing and alerting and all that happy stuff! I know I've said this before but it seriously does make my day. Also, many many thanks to Kylen for reading this over and giving me some feedback before I let it loose._

_On we go!_

* * *

_All that I know is I'm breathing.  
All I can do is keep breathing.  
All we can do is keep breathing now._

_-Ingrid Michaelson, "Keep Breathing"_

_

* * *

_

Gibbs half-walked, half-jogged across the parking garage. His car was parked in a "Physician's Parking Only" spot, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Security could get over it. He'd arrived at the hospital in enough of a hurry that he figured they were lucky he hadn't parked in the ambulance bay.

Tony was being admitted, and Gibbs had taken the opportunity to duck outside for a few minutes under the pretense of getting his phone from the car. He did need to get the phone - he had to get an update from McGee and Ziva, call Abby and Ducky, maybe try to track down Jen. Rally the troops. More importantly, though, he needed some air. Gibbs had been pretty sure he knew what he was walking into as soon as he'd heard Tony's voice on the line. _The test results_... Still, hearing it directly had felt like a punch to the gut.

He'd forced himself to stay calm, coolheaded, because that was what the situation called for. He still couldn't quite believe Tony had called him. Tony didn't call for help. And the fact that Tony hadn't backed off and come to the scene, that he had even hinted at what was going on once he knew where Gibbs was, that he hadn't fought harder to keep Gibbs from coming...all of it told Gibbs that Tony was scared. Very scared. Which meant Gibbs couldn't be.

Not outwardly, at least.

Gibbs spotted his car, and he could see a familiar figure sitting on the hood. Abby's legs were dangling over the side of the car and she was staring into space, kohl-rimmed eyes scanning the lot. As he drew closer, she saw him and hopped down, but didn't approach. Instead, she stood, arms crossed, and simply watched.

"Abs," Gibbs said as soon as he was near enough to be heard without shouting. "What are you doing here?" He had a good idea, and knew he'd have to tell her everything. He'd never planned to do otherwise. But lord, he'd hoped for a little more time to prepare first. Ten minutes; five even. Time to straighten out his own head before bringing in the others.

"Well," Abby said, "it's like this, Gibbs. McGee called me, and said that Tony had called you and the next thing he knew, you'd picked up and left. He wanted to know if I'd heard from you. Then Ziva called to tell me that McGee had called to tell her that Tony had called - oh, you get the picture." Abby was advancing on him now. "Anyway, SHE wanted to know if I'd heard from either of you. And I hadn't, of course. So I tried to call. Both of you. Twice." She glared, but her chin was quivering. "And no one answered. So I thought I might as well come down."

Gibbs wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Abs, Tony got his tests back."

"I know. That's what Ziva said." Abby stared up at him, and at the worry on Gibbs' face, her own expression softened a bit. "It's isn't good, is it?"

Gibbs shook his head.

"I figured. You don't just pack up and leave a crime scene like that. Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't know anything. Tony called me, said something about the tests...he didn't go into detail, but it was pretty obvious they weren't good." Gibbs sighed, leaning against the car. "I didn't know anything specific until I got here." Abby continued to watch him, as if waiting for something more. "We just finished with his doctor. I only came down to get my phone." Nothing. "I was going to call you, Abs."

"Were you? Because you guys seem to be really good at keeping things from me."

"Yes, Abby. I would have called you. In fact, that's why I was coming to get my phone."

She sighed, letting the anger fall away. "I know, Gibbs. I just..." She bit her lip. "I couldn't do it like that again."

"Do what?"

"Hear it over the phone."

Gibbs reached out, pulled her in for a hug. She laid her head against his chest. "How bad is it?"

"It's spread to some more lymph nodes and to his bone marrow. They need to do some more tests to see if it's gone beyond that."

"And then what?"

"More chemo. Higher doses, different drugs. He's being admitted now - they're going to start this afternoon." He felt Abby tense at that, and Gibbs didn't blame her. She had yet to be around during the days immediately following a chemo treatment - Tony wouldn't allow it - but she knew enough to understand how rough it had been on her friend. How rough it was likely to be. "Come on," Gibbs said, kissing her on top of the head. "Let's go see him."

"Are you sure it's OK?"

Gibbs slung an arm over Abby's shoulder, steering her towards the hospital. "Sure I am. Tony'll be glad to see you." Gibbs was sure of no such thing; with the news he had just received, Tony likely wouldn't want to see anyone. He'd already started to pull inward, as he usually did when he was trying to deal with something difficult.

Still, the fact that he had called in the first place was a good sign, at least from Gibbs' perspective. It meant that there was some recognition, somewhere in Tony's stubborn head, that he couldn't do this by himself. He gave Abby a little squeeze, and she looked up, that nervous-yet-determined look back on her face. That recognition was a darn good thing, he thought. Because there were a lot of people who weren't going to give him the option of going it alone.

* * *

"Boss," Tony called. His voice echoed off the tiles of the tiny bathroom. "I don't suppose you've got one of those magic duffel bags in your car, do you?"

"Sorry, DiNozzo." Gibbs could guess what the problem was, and he really was sorry. "No such luck."

Tony sighed. "That's what I was afraid of." He emerged from the bathroom, standing unsteadily in the doorway and looking painfully embarrassed. Abby burst into laughter, and Tony glared at her. "I'm sorry," she said between giggles. "You look really cute, Tony. Honest."

"Bullshit," he muttered. Since Dr. Weiss was being so hard nosed about not letting him even go home - well, to Gibbs' place, at least - to pick up his stuff, he was without his usual sweats and T-shirts. That left him stuck with the dreaded hospital gown. He didn't need Abby's laughter to tell him he looked ridiculous. The damn things must have been meant for midgets; the gown barely reached his knees, and he'd ended up putting on two, one backwards, to keep his ass from hanging out for the world to see.

"You look like you're wearing my grandmother's wallpaper," Gibbs said. "Those little flowers."

Tony slid beneath the sheets as quickly as possible. "You're not helping, Boss," he said, but Gibbs didn't miss the fleeting amusement on his face.

"I'll pick up your stuff and bring it back later, Tony," Abby said, smoothing the sheets and pulling the blankets up around him.

Tony watched her, not sure he was reading this right. _Could she really be... _"Abby? Are you...tucking me in?"

"Yes," she said simply. "Everyone needs to be tucked in sometimes." Tony begged to differ - he'd never been tucked in in his life - but it made Abby happy, so he let it go. And...well, it _was_ kind of nice. Maybe. A little.

"OK, Tony." Dr. Weiss had come in during Abby's little mothering exercise. "Let's get this show on the road." She handed him a sheet of paper and, before he could say a word, she handed one to Gibbs as well. Abby and Tony shared a grin. She definitely had their boss figured out.

Tony looked down at the paper in his hand and frowned. "This looks like a spreadsheet,"

"That's because it is," Dr. Weiss replied. "Hyper-CVAD is actually two separate regimens of chemo given in alternating cycles. The idea is to give as many cycles as possible in as short a time as possible."

_What is this, the chemo Olympics? _"Gee, that sounds like fun," Tony said under his breath. "Too bad I forgot my stopwatch."

"We're not worried about fun, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "We're worried about effective."

"Yeah, I know," Tony said. It was easy enough for Gibbs to say. He wasn't the one who was going to be deathly ill for God-knew how long. Tony scanned the list of medications and the schedule for administration. Some of the drugs were new; some he'd already been taking. All of them looked extremely unpleasant. He wondered whose bright idea it had been to give a drug a name that sounded like _toxin_. It didn't exactly inspire confidence.

He listened, feeling strangely detached, as Dr. Weiss laid out the next several weeks of his life. Abby had laced her fingers through his, and Tony fought to keep from pulling away. Her touch grounded him, kept him in the present, and that was a place he didn't want to be. It was easier to think of this as happening to someone else. He let himself drift a little. It was all on the paper; he could figure it out later. At the moment, he didn't really want to know.

The room fell silent. Tony realized that Dr. Weiss had stopped talking and they were all watching him, seemingly waiting for him to answer...something. He'd missed the question, but figured it didn't really matter. He sighed. "Alright. Plug me in. Let's get this over with."

* * *

By the time the nurse arrived with the first bag of Cytoxan, Tony's room was bathed in the gray light of a late, cold afternoon. Tony didn't say a word while she connected the IV to the central line in his chest, and simply nodded when she said she'd be back to check on him. Whatever made her happy. He was tucked in, thanks to Abby, and had the TV on for background noise. He certainly wasn't going anywhere.

He watched the clear liquid snake its way down the tube and into the catheter. Something about the tiny "Toxic" notation on the bag of medication struck him as oddly hilarious. The label wasn't kidding; he'd read over the detailed and all-too-lengthy list of complications the medication could cause, and that was in addition to the usual side effects. It _was_ toxic, of course. It had to be to do its job. It was a race to see which would kill him first - the cancer or the chemo. He should start taking bets.

_Keep breathing._

"Are you still OK?" Abby asked for the third time in ten minutes. She, too, was watching the slow progression of the drugs, and she hadn't yet let go of his hand.

"Still fine," he said. "It takes longer than that to kick in, Abs. Who knows - maybe it won't be so bad this time." He squeezed her hand, then disentangled his fingers under the pretense of adjusting the tube. Her hovering was not helping his own anxiety, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings by asking her to leave. Still, he didn't know how much longer he had it in him to reassure her. His own thoughts were starting to spiral downwards, and he could only lie for so long.

Gibbs didn't miss Tony's discomfort. "Abby, go call Ziva, would you?" His tone, though quiet, made it quite clear that it was not a request. "If they're back at the office, we need to start processing evidence."

"But Gibbs - "

Gibbs stopped her with a look. "Double homicide, Abs. They'll need you there." Reluctantly, Abby agreed, clambering off the bed and into the hallway. Tony barely noticed her departure; his eyes were still fixed on the IV bag above his head. The slow, steady drip was hypnotic, pulling him further and further in until the world shrank to nothing but him and that damned bag. He rolled the IV tubing absently between his fingers.

_Keep breathing._

This wasn't even a new drug. Those wouldn't start for a couple of days. Cytoxan was an old enemy; in a much higher dose this time, true, but not unfamiliar. Yet it felt foreign, like something he should be resisting, not welcoming into his body. He closed his eyes, rolling the tube between his fingers faster and faster, willing his head to stop pounding.

"Still here, Tony?" Gibbs said quietly. He flipped off the TV, then reached out and closed a hand over Tony's before he could dislodge the IV line.

Tony didn't resist, letting his hand fall to the blankets as soon as Gibbs let go. "Sure," he said faintly.

_I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't._

"Hey." Gibbs voice, worried, dragging him back. His hand shaking Tony's shoulder. "Enough. We've talked about this. You can do it, and you will do it. I don't want to hear you saying otherwise."

Tony sucked in a breath. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. _Then don't listen_, he wanted to say. Instead, he defiantly resumed his fidgeting with the IV tube. "Boss, you should take a break. Get some coffee. Figure out what's going on at the office. Make sure Abby's got what she needs." He needed Gibbs to leave. Soon. Because he was going to lose it sometime in the very near future, and he would greatly prefer to do it by himself.

Gibbs ignored him. "What's wrong, Tony?"

_You heard me. I can't do this._ "Hmmm, where do I start?" Tony pretended to look thoughtful. "I'm getting chemo that I wasn't ready for, in doses that are probably going to make me want to escape through the air ducts, except I'll be too out of it to climb up there. I've been going through treatment for weeks that's wiped me out completely but apparently hasn't given the cancer any problems, and it's moving on to more interesting territory. Sometime in the next day or two someone's going to come shove a giant needle in my spine to see if it's spread _there_. And if Dr. Weiss's little spreadsheet is any indication, I might as well just have my mail forwarded here to the hospital." He realized he was on the verge of yelling, and forced himself to calm down. "So take your pick, Boss. There's plenty to choose from."

Tony's diatribe didn't phase Gibbs in the least. "And what else?"

"What else? Isn't that enough?"

"Sure. But none of that," he said, looking Tony squarely in the eye, "is what's really bothering you. Is it, DiNozzo?"

_C'mon, Tony. Just breathe._ "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

Tony was silent for awhile, but Gibbs didn't press him, just fixed him with his unnerving, steady gaze, and waited. Finally, he said, "I don't understand why it's so hard this time."

"Why what's so hard?"

"The not knowing," he said, pushing himself upright and trying to gather his thoughts. "It seems like this should be a 'been there, done that' kind of thing. I've had the damn pneumonic plague; it's not like I've never been in a situation like this before. But this, it's different."

"How so?" Gibbs had a pretty good idea, but Tony needed to get there himself.

"Well," Tony said with a harsh laugh, "when I had the plague I was a little preoccupied with, I don't know, _breathing_. That was a pretty effective distraction." He absently started to roll the IV line between his fingers again. "Kate said something, when we were both in isolation. She asked me if I was scared. I told her of course I wasn't. She said that anyone with half a brain would be scared, because we were lying there, just waiting."

Gibbs remembered that feeling all too well. "Kate was pretty smart."

Tony forced himself to stop playing with the tubing before he disconnected it. "She was right. That time, though, the waiting - we had to wait, what, eighteen hours? A day? And there was literally nothing we could do. We knew what could happen, we just had to wait and see if it did." He looked up at Gibbs. "Now, there are plenty of things we can do, but it doesn't make a difference. We still don't _know_ what's going to happen. And it's not just a few hours, or even days. I could probably handle that. This time, it feels like the waiting doesn't stop." He took a deep breath. "I don't wait well, Boss." A slight smile. "Can't imagine where I picked that up."

Gibbs leaned forward, ignoring that last bit. "Tony, there's nothing I or anyone else can say that will make this easier. It's hard; it's going to _be_ hard, and there's no way around that. None of us can do this for you."

"Thanks for the pep talk. Trust me, I know I'm on my own here."

"No, you're not. That's my point. None of us can do this for you, but we're not going to let you do it alone, either."

Tony sighed in frustration. "Boss, that's not what I meant. I don't want you guys to feel like you have to hold my hand."

"No one feels that way. Tony, if it were one of us in your place, what would you do?" Gibbs didn't give him a chance to answer. "We're your family, like it or not, and that's what family does. Yes, the waiting is going to be hard, but we're going to wait with you. And whatever happens, we'll deal with that as it comes too."

_Family. _The word made Tony's breath catch in his throat. The sentiment was something he'd have expected from Abby; she probably _had_ said it at one time or another. Gibbs, though, had never given voice to it before. He'd never had to, and it wasn't his way. Yet somehow he'd known that this time, Tony needed to hear it out loud.

Still, it was so un-Gibbs like...

"Boss, anyone ever tell you you'd make a good therapist?"

Gibbs looked disgusted. "You don't have to insult me, DiNozzo."

Much better. Tony grinned and leaned back against the pillows. Feeling marginally calmer, he turned his eyes back to the clear, dripping chemicals.

_Just keep breathing._


	15. Pressure

_Uncertainty, is killing me  
And I'm certainly, not asleep  
Maybe I've gone far too deep  
Maybe I'm just far too weak  
And that's the last place  
I want to be  
The last place_

_____-The Fray, "Uncertainty"_

* * *

Abby came during lunch the next day, bearing gifts in the form of a pack of cards and a pile of comfortable clothes. Despite being tired, achy, and flat out grumpy, Tony could have kissed her. "I don't know what it is about hospital gowns, but I swear they make you feel worse," he said, sitting cross-legged on the bed and reveling in the feel of a pair of old gray sweatpants and a T-shirt. He wasn't picky - right now, he'd be happy in anything that didn't remind him of a too-small kimono.

Abby hopped up on the foot of the bed, settling in opposite Tony. "Hospital cooties," she said.

Gibbs blinked. "Hospital cooties?"

"Think about it, Gibbs." Abby looked completely serious. "They never leave the hospital, a million different people have worn them - how can they _not_ pick up some kind of weirdness? I mean, people die in those things."

Tony and Gibbs both stared at her.

"They probably burn those, though," she said thoughtfully, oblivious to the incredulous looks the two men were giving her.

"Thank you, Abby," Tony finally said. "I will never be able to touch a hospital gown again, let alone put one on."

"Oh, God." She put a hand to her mouth, looking horrified. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry," she said. "Tony, I didn't mean..."

"No, not that," Tony said quickly, suppressing a shudder. "Just...ew. How do you _think_ of this stuff?"

Abby began to shuffle the cards. "So, what's on tap for this afternoon?"

Tony thought for a moment. "Another PET scan, transfusion to top off my platelets, lumbar puncture, and more chemo. And a partridge in a pear tree."

"Busy day."

"Yeah. I'm gonna need a day planner to keep up with all the excitement." As if he could forget it. Any of it. He knew it too well, and that alone was enough to depress him. It was all becoming too familiar, too routine. _I have got to get out of here_. _ Anything that involves being injected with radioactive material should never become routine._

The lumbar puncture wasn't routine, though - at least, not yet. He wasn't sure why the thought of that particular procedure disturbed him so much. It could be just the fact that he kind of needed his spine; as such, having people poking around it with needles, close to important nerves, did not seem to be an advisable activity.

More likely, though, it was that comment from one of the nurses that he couldn't get out of his head...

"You OK?" Abby's voice invaded his thoughts.

"Fine," he said, trying to drag his mind out of the pessimistic little rut it seemed to have found. Unfortunately, it was quite comfortable there, and he wasn't having much luck.

"Are you sure?" He looked over to see her watching him with concern. That look...he kept seeing it, on Abby's face, on Ziva's, on McGee's. On the nurses who checked on him every fifteen seconds; on Dr. Weiss when she made her rounds. Even on Gibbs, when he thought Tony wasn't looking. That damned _look..._

Tony forced a smile. "I'm great. Wonderful. Peachy. Excellent. Terrific, fantastic, stupendous...I'm running out of adjectives, but I am _fine_. Deal the cards, would you?"

"Ooooo-kay...." Abby was not about to push him further.

Before long, they were deep into a tournament of blackjack, with tongue depressors lifted from a supply closet filling in for chips. Since Abby was trying to bring Gibbs up to speed on the evidence in the double homicide at the same time, Tony's pile of little wooden sticks was much larger than hers by the time Dr. Weiss arrived for rounds. "Looks like it was a rough night." Dr. Weiss said without preamble. She had pulled his chart from the nurse's station and was flipping through it, frowning slightly as she reviewed the notes.

"The first night always sucks," Tony said with a shrug, trying to sound unconcerned. The sudden dryness in his throat wasn't making it easy, though. _Please, please tell me what I thought I heard was wrong._ "It's weird, though - I didn't have hallucinations from that stuff before."

"Hallucinations?" Hearing the sarcasm lacing his voice, Dr. Weiss looked more wary than confused.

"Yes. I thought one of the nurses said that I'm supposed to get chemo injected directly into my spine. Since that is completely and utterly insane, I assumed that I was hallucinating, and figured that might be an important new side effect that you might want to make note of."

Abby looked up from her hand, brows raised in surprise. "Geez, Tony. Cranky much?"

"Sorry." Tony laid his cards face down on the bed and rubbed his temples. "It's just that I got about two hours of sleep, I finally quit puking, and I actually feel pretty decent right now. So, no, I'm _not _entirely thrilled about getting a needle shoved in my back."

Abby exchanged amused looks with Gibbs. "Yep. He's cranky."

"Y'think, Abs?"

Tony was unamused by their amusement. At the same time, it was probably better that they thought him "cranky". It was better than "scared shitless," or "considering the fastest route to the fire escape", both of which would have been more accurate. Worse yet, Dr. Weiss wasn't contradicting him. Instead, she seemed to be steeling herself for a difficult conversation, which could not be a good sign. _I wasn't wrong...you have GOT to be kidding me... _Tony pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, bracing himself and shutting them out in one swift movement.

Dr. Weiss pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat, as she usually did when she was likely to be having a longer-than-usual talk with a particularly stubborn patient. "Tony," she said calmly. "It really isn't that bad. It's prophylactic chemo only, which means -"

"I know what it means," Tony interrupted.

"It's a very low dose, as well." Tony said nothing. It could be a magical crystal vial filled with puppies and rainbows, for all he cared. He still didn't want it in his spine. "And," Dr. Weiss continued, "it's still only one procedure. They'll extract the spinal fluid and inject the methotrexate immediately after."

"Tony. Suck it up, would ya?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably. He knew he was crabby; he knew he was whining; he knew he was making this more difficult than it needed to be and probably acting like a three-year-old in an effort to keep from showing how freaked out he was. With anyone else, he may have been able to get away with it. However, in those six words Gibbs had left no question that he saw straight through Tony's bullshit, and despite the lightness of his tone, the underlying reminder came through loud and clear.

_You can do this, and you WILL do it._

Tony sighed. "Sucking it up, Boss."

Abby leaned over and hugged him gently, then slid off the bed. "Ziva and McGee really want to see you," she said. "We'll come by this afternoon and celebrate surviving the Spinal Tap of Doom, OK?"

Tony bit back an instinctive _No! _He wanted to see them, but having them there, in the hospital, when he had no idea what creative betrayal his body would come up with next, still sent his defenses into overdrive. Gibbs...well, he'd pretty much let that one go the morning Gibbs had shown up at his apartment, all those weeks ago. Ducky fell into the same category. He'd managed to keep Abby away for the worst parts, but she had still seen more of the rough times than he'd have liked. Tony was quickly running out of face to save. It shouldn't matter, he told himself. They were his friends. His family, even, if he were to believe Gibbs.

But it did matter. It still did.

And Gibbs knew it. He saw Tony tense at Abby's words, and knew exactly what was going through his mind, because it was the same thing Gibbs himself would have been thinking. Through no fault of his own, Tony had been forced to reveal more vulnerability over the past several weeks than during his entire stint at NCIS. Gibbs would have been willing to bet it was more than he'd shown his entire adult life. He started to encourage Tony, in typical Gibbs fashion, to get over it, but stopped himself and waited to see what the younger man would do.

"OK. That'll work," Tony finally said. He stared down at the blanket, picking at a loose thread. "I'll see you guys this afternoon."

Abby hugged him again, whispered "You can do this, Tony!", and left before he could say another word. Tony risked a quick glance at Gibbs, who gave him a nod and a slight smile.

_He knows._ Tony relaxed and leaned back against the pillow. He may have deserved a headslap, but that nod would work just fine.

* * *

The lumbar puncture was relatively painless. The aftermath was not. Despite his efforts to stay completely still after the procedure, Tony's head was currently lodging a violent protest against the shift in fluid levels. He'd had migraines before; this was different. Every time he even thought about sitting up, it felt like someone was trying to vacuum his brain out through the base of his skull. He'd had the nausea nearly beat that morning, but the pain brought it back with a vengeance; the most he could do was grit his teeth, ride it out, and try not to scream.

He'd tried, as he always did, to get Gibbs to leave with Abby when she went back to the office after lunch. As _he_ always did, Gibbs had refused, and whenever the pain eased enough for him to think coherently, Tony was desperately glad. Being alone was not an option; not this time, when attempting any position other than flat on his back was enough to make the world go gray. "Should have...gone for...the fire escape," he whispered at one point, as Gibbs was helping him lie back down.

Gibbs had no idea what he was talking about, but it sure as hell wasn't the time to ask. It was insane, he thought. This much pain after a simple procedure couldn't be normal, no matter what the medical staff said. Though he was trying to stay calm and trust them to do their jobs, he was quickly losing patience. Very quickly. If Tony hadn't needed him there, he'd have been permanently stationed out at the nurses' desk raising holy hell. As it was, he was about five minutes from calling Ducky - even Palmer, if he had to. Someone, anyone, who could speak the language and get through the medical technobabble to explain what was going on and what they were going to do to fix it.

Just as he was considering yet another trek out to the nurses' station, he saw Abby ease the door open. "Tony?" _Shit._ Gibbs started to wave her back, but it was too late; Tony's instinctive reaction at hearing Abby's voice was to try to sit up, and as soon as he did, the burst of pain kicked off the nausea and he was dry heaving again - God, _again_. Abby froze, taking in the scene through wide, horrified eyes. As hard as it was to see her friend so sick, from what Gibbs had said she knew it was normal. She also knew that Gibbs and Tony had learned to take it in stride. What _wasn't_ normal, though, was the pain etched across Tony's features. He was leaning heavily against Gibbs, and even from the doorway she could hear him whisper "Hurts...God, it _hurts_!" when the sickness eased long enough for him to get a breath. She froze, wanting to go to him and yet unable to bring herself to move.

McGee grasped her shoulders from behind, and she jumped. "It's OK, Abs," he said quietly, but she shook her head; she didn't know what to say, just that it wasn't OK - it was wrong, all wrong. Ziva, catching Gibbs' eye, eased past them both and sat on the bed on Tony's other side, shifting some of his weight to her and taking his free hand.

Somewhere on the other side of the pain, Tony felt a hand grasp his and heard a quiet voice in his ear, murmuring in a language he didn't understand. _Ziva?_ He opened his eyes long enough to see her face, then squeezed them shut as another wave of nausea washed over him. It _was _Ziva, and although a few hours ago he'd have been horrified at the idea of any of the team seeing him like this, at the moment he simply did not care. All he wanted was for his body to finish turning itself inside out and for his head to just go ahead and explode, since that seemed to be what it was trying to do anyway. He retched again, gripping Ziva's hand hard enough to bruise it, but she didn't budge, just squeezed back and kept talking.

He heard Gibbs tell someone over in the doorway to get a nurse, _now_, and the part of his brain that was still functioning thought that sounded like a swell idea. Nurses had drugs. The ones they'd given him so far seemed to be pretty much useless, but there was always something new to try. Chloroform, maybe.

Finally, his body decided to take pity on him, at least partially; the nausea began to subside, and he leaned back against Gibbs' chest, trying to get his breath. Ziva quickly filled a cup from the pitcher on the bedside table and handed it to Tony. He reached out to take it, but his hand was shaking so much that it would have splashed across the bed had Ziva not grabbed it. "Slowly," she said, giving him the cup, then placing her hand over his to keep it from spilling as he sipped. "Better?"

"Yeah," Tony managed. "Need to...lie down..."

Ziva set the cup on the table, then helped Gibbs ease Tony back down. She reached out to the controls that raised the head of the bed, but Gibbs shook his head. "Flat on his back," he said. "That seems to help." It did; though still obviously in pain, the worst of the tension eased from Tony's face once he was lying down. Gibbs straightened up, looking towards the doorway. "Where the hell is that nurse?"

"I believe McGee - " Ziva began, but before she could finish one of the nurses came in, McGee close behind her. Ziva quickly stepped out of the way so she could move in beside Tony, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be trying to stay as still as possible.

"Hey, hon," the nurse said. Her movements were brisk and efficient, but her voice was warm, and Tony relaxed a bit more at the sound of it. She fastened a blood pressure cuff around his arm and started to inflate it. "I'm guessing the Tylenol didn't help."

"What Tylenol?" Tony muttered, and she chuckled.

"That's what I thought. Let me get your vitals and then we'll give your doctor a call, see if she can give you something stronger. Sound OK?"

"I knew I loved you, Beth."

"You just want me for my morphine."

"Right in one."

Beth looked down at the digital readout on the BP cuff. "138/90, pulse 112. That's pretty high, kiddo. It may be from the pain, though; let's try to get that under control and we'll check again. Open up." She put a thermometer under Tony's tongue. "I don't want to make you wait - you keep that there, and I'll go give Dr. Weiss a call." Ziva and McGee exchanged glances as Beth hurried out the door.

"Kiddo?" Ziva said, looking amused.

"Shut up," Tony mumbled around the thermometer in his mouth.

"Forget that," McGee said. "Tony - voluntarily taking his temperature?"

"Probie, get over here so I can glare at you."

"Stop talking," Gibbs snapped, but there wasn't much force behind it. The team's characteristic banter was doing more to loosen the knot in his chest than any of the dozen "I'm OK's" Tony had given him over the past couple of hours. _Has it really only been that long?_ It felt like days; if it seemed that way to him, Gibbs could only imagine how long it seemed to Tony.

The thermometer beeped. Tony hadn't realized, until he reached up to remove it, that he'd still been clutching Ziva's hand. "Sorry," he said, his face reddening in embarrassment. "Didn't mean to break your hand."

"Please, Tony," Ziva scoffed, as if the idea that he would be strong enough to cause any damage was ridiculous. She waited until he'd looked away before wincing and flexing her fingers, trying to coax the blood back into them.

Beth was back, carrying a syringe, and Tony handed her the thermometer. "It stayed in till it beeped. I promise."

"I believe you - there's enough people here to rat you out if it hadn't," Beth said, examining the display. "99.6 - a little elevated but nothing to worry about at this point." She set it aside and turned back to Tony. "Here's the deal. Dr. Weiss wants to hold off on any stronger painkillers for right now."

"Any particular reason?" Gibbs said, his voice tight.

"Well, he's on so many meds already that we try not to add anything unless it's absolutely necessary - "

"I'd say it's pretty damn necessary!"

"And," Beth continued, not intimidated in the least, "the fact is, painkillers really don't do much at all for this type of headache."

"So you're saying what - that he just has to live with it? He can't even sit up, and you're telling me there's nothing you can do?"

Even though Tony couldn't see Gibbs from where he was lying, he could tell the older man's anger was about to erupt. "Boss, please," he said quietly, hoping to get Gibbs' attention without appearing to be calling him out. It worked; Gibbs stopped abruptly, quit pacing, and simply stood by the foot of the bed, arms folded across his chest, looking for all the world like the papa bear Jen had imagined.

"No, I'm just saying that we need to wait a bit longer to see if it resolves on its own, and if it doesn't, Dr. Weiss can talk about some other options with you. She did, however, give an order for Phenergan - it should help with the nausea and it's pretty sedating."

"So it'll at least knock me out?" The idea sounded wonderful as far as Tony was concerned.

"You got it. Want to give it a shot?"

"Don't make me puke on your shoes. It hurts to roll over."

"Wouldn't dream of it." She slipped the syringe into the port on Tony's IV, injecting the clear fluid directly into the line. "There you go," she said, placing the cap back on and dropping it into the sharps container on the wall. "Let's see if that'll take the edge off."

"That much pain..." Ziva said. She was still sitting next to Tony and, without entirely realizing it, had picked his hand back up. "Does that always happen?"

"No, not always," Beth said. "But he was already nauseated, the headache made the nausea worse, vomiting made the headache worse, and so on. One or the other might not have been so bad, but the combination made for a pretty vicious cycle."

"Wasn't so bad," Tony lied. "Don' wanna go again, though." He could already feel the medication kicking in. His eyelids were growing blissfully heavy, and though his head was still throbbing, he didn't really care. Something was off, though. Missing. He tried to get his sluggish mind to focus. It was right there... _Abby! Where's Abby?_

"Where's Abby?" Gibbs said suddenly, pausing in his steps.

"That's creepy, Boss." Tony heard his words starting to run together. "Give the brain back."

"She was with us when we got here," McGee said, and then realized that with all the commotion surrounding Tony, he'd never actually seen her enter the room.

Gibbs had come to the same conclusion. "I know that, McGee. Where is she now?"

Tony's eyes opened fully. _Scared her...shit...didn't mean..._

McGee, remembering how Abby had frozen at the door, had a pretty good idea of what had happened. When he saw the flash of guilt pass over Tony's face, though, he thought quickly. "Oh, um, I remember - she left her, uh, purse-thingy in the car. She was going down to get it."

"Purse-thingy?" Gibbs repeated.

"You know, that thing that looks like a monkey. I think it's actually supposed to be a backpack." McGee shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but he was worried. "I'll go see if I can find her," he said. The look Gibbs gave him seemed to be a cross between "thanks" and "what took you so long?"

"Tell her...'m sorry," Tony said as McGee was leaving. He yawned, wanting now to stay awake, at least until Abby was back, but his body was clearly not going to cooperate.

"An' Probie?" he managed as his eyes slid shut. "Y'still...suck at lying."


	16. Control

_I honestly feel like I should apologize to Tony for that last chapter. (Except for, y'know, the whole 'fictional character' thing.) ;-) When I was originally doing my research on chemo protocols, I didn't catch that part of it was directly into the spine until my second read-through. Explained how low the dose was...yeesh. /shudder_

_Thanks so much to all of you who are reading, and especially for reviewing - you guys are motivating me to get better at making sure I review the stuff I read! :-)_

_On we go..._

* * *

_Does the pain weigh out the pride?  
And you look for a place to hide?_

_- Green Day, "21 Guns"_

_

* * *

  
_

Abby wasn't difficult to find. McGee quickly spotted her in the waiting area, curled into the corner of one of the couches. She'd clearly been crying - her cheeks bore the dark smudges of hastily-wiped tears - but her eyes were dry now, and she was simply staring down at her knees, her face blank. The waiting room was deserted; not unexpected considering that visiting hours would not be over for another twenty minutes. Still, rather than call out, McGee crossed the room and settled onto the seat beside her. "Hey."

"Hey." Abby didn't look at him, just sat absently drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch. "How's Tony?"

"He's fine."

Her head flew up. "Don't _lie _to me, McGee! I _saw_ him! He was NOT fine!"

"Whoa, Abby, hang on." McGee put a hand up to stop her. "I shouldn't have said fine. He's better, though." She looked at him through narrowed eyes, not sure if she should believe him. "He is, I swear. They gave him some medication and it seemed to help - he was almost asleep when I left, I think."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's good. Sleep is good for him - that should help, right?" She nodded as she spoke. "It'll help," she said again, then trailed off into silence.

"Probably so," McGee said, to fill the emptiness. Abby didn't seem to notice.

McGee waited. When Abby was upset, her words usually tumbled out too fast to follow; sometimes, though, when she was truly rattled the flow of words slowed. Her quiet told McGee how frightened she really was. He couldn't fault her; he was still shaken himself, and he at least had been in the room long enough to see Tony get through the worst of it. For the time being, anyway.

"He was so sick," Abby finally said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. "You saw him. Timmy - he was _hurting_ - " Her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed hard.

"I don't think it's always like that, Abby," McGee said, thankful he could give her a few honest words of comfort. "I got the feeling that this was unusual - it was from the lumbar puncture, changes in fluid pressure, something like that."

"Intracranial pressure," Abby said.

"Right. That."

Abby thought about it. McGee was probably right, but the medical explanations didn't help much when she could still hear Tony's voice in her head. _Hurts...God, it hurts... _She shifted closer to McGee and leaned her head on his shoulder.

McGee put an arm around her, then thought of something else. "And," he said, trying to sound encouraging, "he was already picking on me when I left. Told me I suck at lying."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Abby's face. "You _do_ suck at lying, McGee."

"Yeah, but he felt OK enough to rag on me about it."

"That's good." Ordinarily McGee would have argued with that - _Tony picking on him? Good? _- but for once he was forced to agree. "I shouldn't have run off like that," Abby went on. "I was just...I didn't know. Gibbs tried to tell me but it was too late, I'd already said something and Tony knew I was there, and he shouldn't have...but..." She was crying again, not openly weeping but slow tears that drew little notice as they found their way down her cheeks.

"Abby, it isn't your fault." McGee expected an argument - Abby often blamed herself for things she shouldn't - but instead was met with another long silence.

"I know," she said at last. "I kind of wish it was, though, y'know?"

McGee didn't know. He'd become good at keeping up with Abby-logic, but this was a bit beyond him. Thankfully, Abby didn't leave it at that. "See, if it was my fault, then I could fix it. But it's not. And I can't." She sniffed, and McGee hugged her, not sure what to say. "Does Tony know? That I freaked out?"

"Um, I don't think so." He had no intention of mentioning Tony's half-conscious apology. "He wondered where you were, but I told him you left your monkey-thing in the car and you went down to get it."

"My what?" She raised her head to look at him.

"Your monkey - you know, that purse thing. With the red fur."

She giggled, even though her eyes were still wet. "McGee, I haven't carried that in like, three years."

"Oh."

She laid her head back on his shoulder. "No wonder Tony knew you were lying."

"Eh. He would have known anyway," McGee admitted. They sat for a few minutes, Abby sniffing occasionally but not saying anything else. McGee couldn't tell what she was thinking, which made him fear it was nothing good. Abby may have admitted that Tony getting so sick wasn't her fault, but it didn't mean she wasn't still blaming herself. "Are you OK?" he finally asked.

"You shouldn't worry about me. You should worry about Tony."

"I can worry about both of you, Abby."

"I'm fine," Abby said firmly. "I am." She wiped her eyes and sat up, looking past McGee. "Gibbs and Ziva are coming."

McGee trailed after her as she met them halfway down the hall, watching as she hugged Gibbs and realizing she already looked more relaxed. "He's out cold, and hopefully he'll stay that way for awhile," Gibbs was saying as McGee reached them. "He could use it. Let's head out." Gibbs steered Abby down the hall toward the elevators, Ziva and McGee following several feet behind.

"She looks better," Ziva said quietly.

"Gibbs has that effect on her," McGee replied.

"Did you speak to her?"

McGee nodded. "Don't know how much good it did, though."

Ziva put a hand on his arm. "Have a little faith, McGee."

They caught up with Gibbs and Abby at the elevators. As they were getting on, Abby turned back to McGee. "Thanks, Timmy," she said softly, and kissed him on the cheek.

He didn't miss Ziva's knowing smile as the doors slid shut.

* * *

By the time Tony managed to pull himself from a drugged sleep, the sky outside his window was dark. The lights in his room were out with the exception of the small lamp on the bedside table; even in the dimness, he squinted against the light at first, trying to get his bearings. His head hurt; that much, he knew. The rest of his body - the soreness in his abdominal muscles, the dull ache in his lower back - was an afterthought in light of the throbbing in his skull. He lay still, knowing something had happened earlier, something hellish, something that had left him in this drug-induced haze. If he could just get himself to think...

And then, it came rushing back. All of it.

At Tony's sharp intake of breath, Gibbs' head snapped up from the pile of papers on his lap. "Tony?" His voice was low, but the worry in it was unmistakable. "You awake?"

"Yeah," Tony said through dry lips. "Think so." He took a deeper, shuddering breath as his mind opened up and the pieces of the afternoon spilled out. Gibbs, Ziva, McGee, all there, witness to his body's uncontrollable rebellion against the pain. Ziva, sitting beside him and trying to calm him down, helping him drink, holding his hand - holding his fucking _hand._ McGee, making up some story (he was a hopeless liar) so he could go find Abby. Abby...

That one glimpse of Abby, standing horrified in the doorway, before he stopped seeing anything at all.  
_  
Tell me that didn't happen. Please, for God's sake, somebody tell me that did not happen!_

He guessed he must have made some sound, because Gibbs said, "Still hurting?"

"It's OK. Better." How did he explain that his head, though painful, was not the problem? He couldn't even bring himself to look at Gibbs. He thought he'd let that go; thought that he'd come to terms with his boss, at least, seeing him at his worst. Now, though, Gibbs was suddenly lumped in with the rest of them, at least for this one night, and he had become yet another person Tony didn't want to face right now.

"It must be late," Tony said. He didn't wait for Gibbs to answer. "You should head out. Go home, work on your boat. Sleep in a real bed."

Gibbs assumed this was the same conversation they'd had a hundred times before. Tony meant it every time - had it been up to him, _really _up to him, Gibbs knew Tony would have gone to ground somewhere from the beginning and surfaced only when the whole thing was over. Gibbs had no intention of allowing that to happen, so he did his best to read Tony, read the situation, and make the call each time. When in doubt, he tended to stay, and Tony tended to let him. They'd reached something of an understanding.

Tonight, things were harder to read. There was something in the younger man's voice that disturbed him; Tony sounded distant, withdrawn. Still, Gibbs thought, after the day he'd had Tony didn't need to be alone. He started to refuse, to tell him he'd stick around, say something about his back getting used to the chair or some crap like that. He could bullshit as well as DiNozzo when he had a mind to.

Then, he looked - really looked - at Tony's face, and suddenly things were not hard to read at all. He couldn't see much, as Tony was staring at the opposite wall, but what he could see screamed _Leave me alone!_ as clearly as if Tony had said it aloud.

"You sure?"

A Tony who was hiding, who was trying to keep people from feeling obligated, who was trying to pretend that everything was OK, would have made reassurances. He would have said something about wanting to get some sleep himself, or not wanting to bore Gibbs to death. He would surely have given the ubiquitous, "I'm fine."

This Tony simply said, "Yes. I'm sure."

Gibbs wanted to argue, or to flat-out refuse, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. "All right." He stood, gathering his papers. "You call, if anything..." He trailed off, wanting to make sure that Tony heard him, that he understood. "Doesn't matter when. Just call."

"I know, Boss. Thanks."

Gibbs hesitated another second, wavering. He knew, though, that to stay right now wouldn't do a damn thing to help Tony. Backing off and giving Tony some time, though it went against his instincts, was the best possible thing he could do.

"Boss?" Gibbs had almost reached the door when Tony spoke. He turned. Tony was finally looking at him, his expression guarded. "Is Abby all right?"

"She's OK."

"Honestly?"

"Tony," Gibbs said quietly. "I don't lie to you."

Tony looked at him for a moment, then appeared to accept his answer. His chin lifted a bit. "See you tomorrow, Boss. Get some sleep."

When he had gone, Tony fumbled for the remote and flipped on the television. He raised the head of the bed just enough so that he could see the screen; any more and he knew his head would explode in protest, and he really wasn't in the mood to go through that again. Fact was, he wasn't sure he COULD go through it again, at least not today. Flipping through the channels, he settled on an old Boris Karloff horror film.

And then he promptly tuned it out. He'd put the damn TV on because he didn't _want_ to think, yet his mind refused to stop its deluge of half-formed thoughts and hazy images. It had been a mistake to let them come. He'd known it from the start - he never, ever should have said yes, not before going into a procedure that was unfamiliar. He'd let himself be talked into -

_Not fair, DiNozzo_. He cut that line of thought short before it could take him any further. It wasn't anyone's fault; it happened, that was it. It wasn't a big deal. So they'd seen him sick; so what? It was bound to happen sooner or later.

Tony jabbed at the volume button on the remote, muting the TV and letting the screen flicker in silence. Oh, sure, it was nothing at all. Only the thing he'd been trying to avoid since day _one_ of this entire fucking nightmare. That afternoon, when they'd all been there, he had been so sick that their presence barely registered at first; by the time it did, he was overwhelmed with exhaustion and sinking into a Phenergan-induced sleep. Now, though, in the quiet, when he could finally think...

He felt naked - there was no other word for it. Every attempt he'd made at keeping things even remotely normal had been stripped away in a handful of hellish, painful minutes. It wasn't a question of being embarrassed, although there was certainly an element of that. More salient, though, was the fact that he couldn't control how the team saw him anymore. He had been so careful, so damn careful, to make sure they didn't see him as _sick_. With the obvious exceptions of Ducky and Gibbs (and how hard had _that_ been to get used to?), he'd done a pretty good job.

Now, he didn't know what they saw.

He was shocked to realize that his eyes were burning. _Really, DiNozzo? REALLY? _Was he honestly, after all he'd been through in the last couple of months - hell, in the last 48 hours - was he really about to lose his shit over _this_?

_They care about you._

_They're your family._

Well, maybe that was part of his problem - both those things might be true, but he couldn't make them fit together. In Tony's experience, family didn't mean caring. Family meant keeping up appearances. At any cost.

_DiNozzos don't let people see weakness._

_DiNozzos don't ask for help._

_DiNozzos don't cry._

He closed his eyes, keeping them shut until the heat was gone, leaving only an empty weariness in his chest. Then he flipped off the TV and lay in the dark, staring at the shadows on the wall.

_DiNozzos. Don't. Cry.  
_  
He had never been a very good DiNozzo.


	17. Night

_A/N: First, I apologize for the long delay in updating. Sometimes life gets in the way. I'll try not to let it get much longer than a week again!_

_Second...the season premiere. All I will say, for the sake not spoiling those who haven't seen it... I melted into a little happy puddle and have not yet recovered. Half of me is thinking "why on earth am I putting this out there after THAT?" and the other half just wants to keep playing in that universe. I'm letting the second half win. She's more fun anyway. ;-)_

* * *

_That day, that day  
I lay down beside myself  
In this feeling of pain, sadness  
Scared, small, climbing, crawling  
Towards the light  
And it's all I see and  
I'm tired and I'm right  
And I'm wrong  
And it's beautiful_

_-Natalie Imbruglia, "That Day"  
_

* * *

Tony had told him to go home, and Gibbs had every intention of doing just that when he left the hospital. It sounded good - actually going to sleep like a normal person rather than passing out five minutes after walking in the door, as he so often did these days. Yet he found himself bypassing the turn that would lead him home and heading out onto the highway, his headlights glinting off rain-slick pavement. He hadn't noticed the rain earlier; it must have started after he'd returned to the hospital, although considering how narrow his focus had become he wouldn't have been surprised if someone told him it had been raining all day.

He needed coffee. Actually, Gibbs thought as he took the exit toward the Navy Yard, he needed a lot of things. Caffeine. A hot shower. Sleep. The vaguest notion of what to do next. Caffeine would have to do for a start. Twenty minutes and one vitally important stop later, he was at his desk, the scent of fresh Kona blend beginning to break through the exhausted haze shrouding his mind.

McGee and Ziva had left their most recent reports on his desk, neatly stacked, and Gibbs smiled faintly as he flipped through them. As always, they were both thorough and detailed, the "hows" and "whys" neatly documented in the full reports. They also knew him well enough to leave a concise summary of the "what" on top - especially McGee, and Gibbs knew just how much it must have pained him to leave out all the technobabble about addresses or packages or routes or whatever the hell it was.

They had both stepped up, he thought, setting the reports aside. Gibbs wouldn't have expected anything else; still, he'd been asking a lot of them. With Tony completely out of the field, and his own energies pulled in every direction, Ziva and McGee had picked up the slack without a word of complaint. The few times he'd made noise about getting another agent TADd to help - usually after Jen dropped a stronger-than-usual hint to that effect - they had both vehemently refused. Gibbs understood why. Pulling that extra load was something they could do, when there was so little _anyone_ could do.

Gibbs switched on his monitor and began scanning his email, wrapping both hands around the coffee cup for warmth. _There may not be a choice soon_. Dr. Weiss had confirmed his suspicions that Tony was in for a rough time, and the chances of him returning to work in the near future were slim. "He will be back, though," Gibbs had said, and while she hadn't said yes or no, it didn't matter. It wasn't a question, and it wasn't some kind of "hide from reality behind the guise of positive thinking" bullshit. Gibbs simply wasn't willing to entertain any other option.

Yet until Tony came back (and he _would_ be back) the team would continue to be short-handed. Despite having them all half-convinced otherwise, Gibbs could only be in one place at a time; in the very near future, that place would frequently, by necessity, be somewhere other than the office. Something would have to give somewhere. Even he had to sleep from time to time.

_Go home, Jethro._ He could almost hear Ducky's voice, and actually looked up expecting to see the ME standing in front of his desk with a concerned frown. The bullpen was empty, though; the voice only in his mind. Of course it was - whenever he tried to ignore his rational side, it tended to pop up in the form of Ducky, real or imagined. "You my conscience now, Duck?" he'd said once, to which Ducky had responded with uncharacteristic silence and an enigmatic smile, leaving Gibbs unsure if he should be amused or annoyed.

Ducky, phantom or otherwise, was right. Gibbs switched off the monitor and his desk lamp, leaving himself in the dimness of the low overnight lighting. He should go home. He'd skimmed the reports and reviewed the handful of emails that, despite his best efforts, had managed to find their way to his inbox. There was nothing that couldn't wait. He should go home, go to sleep.

He didn't want to.

The house would be too damn empty, the quiet oppressive, and Gibbs knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. The emptiness had never bothered him before, but now, it would be a constant reminder of Tony's absence - and close on its heels, a reminder of why he was gone, and that Gibbs wasn't with him. No matter that Tony had all but ordered him out; despite knowing it had been the right thing to do, leaving the younger man by himself did not sit easy with him. _Let him be, Jethro_, he told himself. _He's an adult. He'll call if he needs you._

He hoped it was true.

Gibbs leaned back and propped his feet on the desk, the chair creaking under his weight. The sounds of the bullpen washed over him; the low drone of running computers, fluorescent emergency lights, and the occasional fax or phone sputtering to life somewhere. Even at night, the place was never really quiet. He thought he heard low voices somewhere on the far side of the room, but didn't get up to check. After a moment they faded into the rest of the background noise. Gibbs set his coffee down on the desk and closed his eyes. It was soothing, that eternal hum, and he slowly began to relax, the tension easing from his muscles.

Sleep was still a long time coming.

* * *

Tony didn't recall dozing off - but then, he thought, who actually remembers falling asleep? His room was still dark, by hospital standards at least - nothing was ever truly dark here, with hallway lights and monitors and such always providing some illumination. It was by the light of the hall that he could see the shadow of a figure curled up in the chair next to his bed. A figure with pigtails.

"Abby?"

"Don't sit up, Tony!"

He chuckled softly. "Don't worry - wasn't planning on it." His head seemed to be behaving for the moment - at least, he could open his eyes without wanting to throw up. Evidently, it liked lying very, very still for long periods of time.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Nah," Tony said. He yawned, trying not to move too much. "What time is it?"

"Around midnight, I think."

"Midnight? How'd you get the nurses to let you in?"

"Easy. They didn't see me. How're you feeling?"

"Fine," he lied, on auto-pilot. Tony thought about asking her to turn on the light, but changed his mind. His head, his eyes, his mood - they all liked the dark. _You're going emo now, DiNozzo? Nice. _"What are you doing here?" he asked, not unkindly. Wanting to be alone warred with his desire not to hurt her feelings, and he tried not to sound as if he didn't want her there. "It's late, Abs. You should be home, not holed up in a hospital room."

He thought he heard her shrug, but that could just be because he knew her so well. "Wanted to tell you I was sorry."

"Sorry? Abby, what on earth do you have to be sorry for?"

"Freaking out."

"Oh God, Abs. Don't be sorry," he said. The image of her face, eyes wide with fear, flashed across his mind for the millionth time that night. "I should apologize for scaring the hell out of you."

"Don't say that." Her voice was quiet, so as not to alert the nurses to her presence, but the intensity was unmistakable. "Don't ever say that, Tony. It's not your fault - you couldn't do anything about it, and I shouldn't have let it scare me. I just didn't know...well, it doesn't matter. I shouldn't have left like that."

"Sure you should have." Tony laughed. "You were the only one smart enough to get the hell out - you all didn't need to go through it. Bad enough Gibbs was stuck taking care of me." The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. "No one should have to do that." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice, and Abby didn't miss it.

"Why not?"

"Not necessary, Abs. I can take care of myself. Been doing it forever."

"But you were sick."

"So?"

"Tony, didn't anyone ever take care of you when you were sick?"

She made it sound so simple. "You didn't get sick at my house growing up."

Abby's brow wrinkled. "But, what if - "

He cut her off. "You just didn't. Period."

"So, your family..."

"Abby." Tony sighed. "My family only knew I was around when I did something to fuck up. I stayed out of the way, and I was good at it. Really good." Abby said nothing, and Tony winced. She was at a loss, and he didn't blame her - on the rare occasions that he did mention his childhood, he usually tried to pass it off as a joke. He had never been so blunt with her about it.

"Like the hotel thing." she said.

"Did Ziva tell you about that?"

"Gibbs."

Tony wished he could take the words back. He hadn't meant to upset her. It was dark, and he was tired, and sick, and his filters were evidently down for maintenance. "It wasn't bad," he said quickly, trying to smooth things over a bit. "Seriously, two straight days of room service and pay-per-view movies - I mean, what more could a kid want?"

"It's not funny, Tony," Abby said. "Families aren't supposed to be like that."

"Yeah, well, that was the one I had."

"No." She shook her head. "Maybe then, but you have us now."

"Sure." Tony smiled, hoping he could humor her, but she wasn't going to be put off.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"You'd do the same for any one of us."

"That's what Gibbs said."

"And?"

"And he's right. Of course I would. You know that."

"So what's the problem?"

"Abby," Tony began. He wished he could sit up. This kind of conversation was meant to be had face-to-face, not with him lying flat on his back. As a compromise, he raised the the bed just to the point where his head threatened to complain in earnest. "It's not that simple -"

He was saved by Beth, and for the first time, he was grateful for one of those dammed middle-of-the-night checks. "Hi, Beth," he said as she slipped into the room. "They making you work a double shift?"

"Didn't think you'd be awake, hon," the nurse said softly. "How's the head?"

"Still attached."

"That good, huh? How about on a scale of one to ten?"

He was about to say, _How about just 'hurts like hell'_, when he remembered that Abby was listening. "Now see, I can't do that unless I know what constitutes a ten. If ten is, say, breaking your leg, then I'd have to go with a seven. But if ten is having your leg bitten off by a shark, then it's probably closer to a five, maybe even a four. It's all relative."

"Tony..."

"Speaking of sharks, did you see Shark Week's coming up on the Discovery Channel?" Beth shot him a look. "What? I love Shark Week."

"How about we split the difference and call it a six?" she said.

Tony made a face and pushed up the sleeve of his T-shirt. "Yeah, I guess that'll work."

Beth was fastening the blood pressure cuff on his arm when she glanced over at Abby, who looked like she was trying to make herself invisible. Abby smiled sheepishly. "Hi, Beth."

"Hi, Abby. Slumber party?"

"Something like that."

"She forgot her jammies," Tony put in. "And she didn't want one of those lovely hospital gowns - I can't imagine why."

Beth quickly finished checking his vital signs, scribbled some notes on his chart, then looked at her watch. "It's been long enough - I can give you another dose of Phenergan, if you need it."

"I think I'm OK without it," Tony said. "I'll take that Tylenol, though, whatever good it does." He gulped the pills she handed him, wincing as they scraped his raw throat, and quickly sipped some water. "Thanks. And...you didn't see Abby, OK?"

"Nope," Beth said, deadpan. "I never see Agent Gibbs at night, either. No one seems to. Funny, that - I think we all need our eyes checked."

"Thanks, Beth."

"Don't mention it. It's not a big deal as long as you keep it to a dull roar. Now if everyone tried to spend the night - McGee and..."

"Ziva," Abby supplied.

"Right, Ziva. We might have to start charging rent at that point." Beth said. "You've got some good friends, Tony. You're lucky." She smiled. "Get some sleep - soon. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Tony said. Beth left as quietly as she'd arrived, her words ringing in Tony's head.  
_  
You've got some good friends, Tony. You're lucky._

He _was_ lucky. Luckier than he deserved to be. And he damn well knew it.

They were the only reason his life even resembled normal. If not for Gibbs and Ducky, he would have found himself in the back of an ambulance after his first chemo treatment - there was no way in hell he could have gotten himself to the hospital. Being able to go home with Gibbs cut at least a few days off each hospital stay. Despite not being able to do field work, there was still plenty he could - and did - do from the office. He was still part of the team; no one had ever made him feel otherwise. Sometimes, when they were brainstorming on a case or killing time in the bullpen and driving each other insane, for a little while it could feel like nothing had changed.

Not to say they didn't do their share of hovering. He closed his eyes, each of them flashing across his mind like a series of snapshots. Gibbs, somehow always there before Tony knew he needed him. Ducky, checking on his temperature every day ("You're neutropenic, Anthony - your immune system is depressed, and an elevated temperature is often the first sign of infection - it's very important...") Ziva and McGee, knowing when he was too damn tired to drive and taking the keys without a word. At least they still made him fight for shotgun. Ziva and Abby, tag-teaming Tony Watch; in their very different ways, they tried to make sure he ate enough and didn't push himself too hard. It drove him crazy sometimes, and yet...

_And yet, where would you be without them?_

He didn't know, except that he wouldn't be doing half as well as he was. No matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, when he pictured trying to do this alone, it was not pretty. So why was he trying in the first place?

"Tony?"

Tony rubbed his temples. _It's not that simple_, he'd told Abby, and it wasn't. Was it?

"Tony?" Abby reached out and put a hand gently on his arm. "Are you all right?"

The pain was building again, fast. _That's what I get for trying to think. _He was again amazed how quickly he could go from relatively OK to feeling like absolute crap. _Zero to shit in sixty seconds_. _Go me._ "Think I turned down that Phenergan too soon," he mumbled.

Before he could say another word, Abby was gone. She returned a minute later, Beth in tow. "I don't think I need to ask," Beth said, spotting Tony's clenched fists and carefully measured breathing.

"A hundred million," he said through gritted teeth. "Can I...opt for...the shark?"

Beth injected the medication into Tony's IV. "Hang in there," she said, lowering the bed. "That should start to work soon, but if it gets any worse, you buzz me right away. Hopefully we caught it early enough."

Tony was none too certain. He couldn't even tell anymore what was from the headache, what was from the chemo, what was from the cancer itself, and what could possibly be ascribed to alien abduction. He went back to his old standby of lying as still as humanly possible and willing himself into sleep. If he could just pass out...

"Do you want me to go, Tony?" Abby asked hesitantly. "You need to sleep."

Tony wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. "Depends," he said. "Are you going to snore?"

Abby laughed. "Tony, I do _not_ snore."

"Liar." He paused. "Stay anyway?"

She smiled. "You know I will."


	18. Caffeine

He came half-awake to the sound of murmurs and hushed voices. Either they were in his head and he'd finally gone crazy, or he'd spent the entire night at his desk. Gibbs kept his eyes closed and hoped that, wherever the voices were, they would shut up before he was awake for good.

"Do you think he's been here all night?"

"I don't know, Timothy, but it would not surprise me. There was one time in particular that I remember, not long after he joined NCIS, that he went an entire week without going home. I can't recall the specific case, but suffice it to say that one night at his desk would not be unusual for Jethro."

"Shouldn't we wake him up? That chair can't be comfortable to sleep in - there's no ergonomic support at all."

A chuckle. "You're welcome to try, my dear boy, but I would suggest moving out of arm's reach when you do. Ah, Abigail! You're here early."

"Abby! Come wake Gibbs up."

"Me? Why me?"

"He won't hurt you."

"That's because I'm not stupid enough to wake him up, Timmy. Besides, he looks so cute."

That was enough. "I look _what_?" Gibbs opened one eye to see McGee, Ducky, and Abby peering down at him.

"Cute, Gibbs." Abby was unfazed by his growl. "All peaceful, and your mouth was kinda half open -"

"Abby!"

"Sorry." She grinned at him, not sorry in the least.

Gibbs swung his legs off the desk and sat up, ignoring his protesting back. It had been awhile since he'd spent the night in that chair, and it hadn't gotten any better suited for sleeping in the interim. Still groggy, he muttered, "What time is it?"

"0600, Boss." McGee had retreated to the safety of his own desk and was logging into his computer. "I left a tracer program running last night, and it should be finishing right about now so I wanted to check on it."

"A tracer?" Abby's ears perked up, and she leaned over McGee's shoulder, examining his screen. A second later the two were lost in what Tony usually called "geek speak," which Gibbs didn't have much patience for even when he was fully awake. He tipped his coffee mug towards him and looked at the inch of cold, black sludge at the bottom. Damn. He wasn't quite desperate enough to drink that, but his options were limited. He'd either have to go out and get more, which would seriously delay the needed caffeine infusion, or raid Jen's private stash. The stuff in the communal pot wasn't strong enough to keep a baby awake - he might as well be drinking that Sleepytime Tea crap.

"_Did _you spend the night here, then, Jethro?" Ducky asked once McGee and Abby were fully engrossed in McGee's computer screen.

"Looks like it."

"And Tony?" Gibbs could hear the unspoken question: _Why are you here and not there?_ It wasn't an accusation, not from Ducky; merely a recognition of the simple fact that these days, if Tony spent the night in the hospital, Gibbs generally did too.

"He needed a little space."

Ducky waited, but Gibbs didn't volunteer anything further. He gave it one last try. "I'd best be getting down to autopsy," he said. "Care to join me?"

"Is there coffee in autopsy?"

"Only tea, I'm afraid. Although, I believe Mr. Palmer may have some instant coffee somewhere."

"You mean freeze-dried dirt? I'll pass." Gibbs looked up the stairs towards the director's office. No sign of Jen or Cynthia. Out into the rain it was, then. "I'll be back."

He'd pulled on his jacket and was halfway to the elevator when Abby called out, "Gibbs! Where are you going?"

Anyone else would have gotten a simple "out", or perhaps an inarticulate mutter, but since it was Abby, Gibbs slowed his pace. "Coffee, Abs."

She caught up with him by the elevator. "Tony says to tell you he's OK."

That made it through the fog. "Tony called? This early?"

Abby shook her head. "I spent the night there. That chair is really comfy, by the way - did you know it kind of folds out, like a bed? I tried to sneak out but Tony woke up when I was leaving. I'm supposed to tell you that he's OK, he'll see you later, thanks for not making him go in the ambulance, it's OK you told me about the hotel, and it really wasn't as bad as a shark."

"He still drugged?"

"Ohhhh, yeah."

Gibbs nodded. "Thanks, Abs." He kissed her on the forehead and hit the down button. At least Tony had let Abby in. He'd figure out the rest after coffee and a shower. For now, he was just glad that Tony hadn't been completely alone.

* * *

The rain had let up, but a fine mist was still falling as Gibbs walked back to the Naval yard from the coffee shop. His usual order - largest size of the darkest roast available - had been waiting on the counter when he walked in the door, and he sipped it slowly, steam rising from the hole in the lid into the chilly morning air. The cold was almost as good as the caffeine at waking him up, and Gibbs decided it was probably a good thing Jen hadn't been there for him to steal coffee from after all. He wasn't avoiding her, he told himself. Not exactly; at least not on purpose...

Oh, hell - he _was_ avoiding her. She'd been far too persistent of late about getting someone assigned to cover for Tony, and Gibbs wasn't in the mood for another argument. Jen was hell-bent on pulling someone in; while Gibbs didn't disagree with her in theory, he wasn't convinced that the timing was right. Not just yet. The last discussion on the topic had disintegrated into heated words and raised voices, and he had come away knowing she wasn't about to let the matter drop.

_"You need to pull him, Jethro."_ _Jen eyed him from behind her desk, her usual place when she wanted to be clear about exactly who was in charge._

_Gibbs rarely let it faze him, and this time was no exception. He stood in front of her, fuming. "How many times have we been over this? I'll do it when I damn well think it's necessary, Jen, and it isn't necessary yet!"_

_"When, exactly, do you think it might be necessary? How long are you going to let this go on?"_

_"Until we hear otherwise from his doctor, or one of us decides he's had enough, whichever comes first. He's doing as well as can be expected, and being here helps. I'm not going to take that away from him until I have to."_

_"And the rest of the team?"_

_"What about the rest of the team?"_

_"Is it really fair to leave them shorthanded, Jethro?" It was a question he'd asked himself a dozen times over, and the answer was always the same: No. It wasn't fair. But then, things weren't trending toward fair these days. More importantly, he knew McGee and Ziva wanted Tony there as much as Tony himself wanted to be there. It was a tough balance, but Gibbs was content to manage it as long as they could pull it off._

_When he didn't answer, she took it as license to continue. "Don't you think they might like a little bit of backup, someone else to take on some of the field work? Don't you think _they_ might be ready for Tony to be pulled?"_

_Gibbs laughed. "Tell you what, Jen. You go downstairs and you ask them that question, and you see what they say. When you do, though, I'd suggest staying to Ziva's right - she throws a mean hook either way, but that angle's less likely to break something."_

He'd stormed out before she could say another word. That had been three days ago; that afternoon, Tony was readmitted to the hospital. To Jen's credit, she hadn't mentioned their conversation when Gibbs called to tell her that things were getting worse. She simply asked if there was anything she could do and told him to take as much time as he needed. The subject was anything but closed, though, and it was only a matter of time before she brought it up again. And this time, Gibbs wasn't so sure she was wrong.

* * *

Getting up had been a great idea. Getting up alone, however, had not. Tony had only been upright for a couple of minutes and, while he was greatly enjoying a non-exploding head, his knees felt like water and standing up was quickly becoming more of a challenge then he'd anticipated. He was seriously considering plopping down on the floor for a change of scenery and, perhaps, a brief nap. "Good work, DiNozzo," he muttered, leaning against the bathroom sink and avoiding the mirror. Exactly how far away was the bed, again?

Muffled voices filtered through the door, and Tony quickly recognized Gibbs and Ducky. "...need to relax, Jethro," came a cultured Scottish burr. "You've said it yourself - between tests and treatment, he spends almost as much time out of his room as he does in it."

"Yeah." A scraping sound, like a chair being moved across the floor. "But if he's not back here in five minutes, I'm going hunting."

"You could just ask the nurses, you know." Ducky sounded amused. Gibbs didn't reply, but Tony didn't need one to guess the look on his boss's face. He started to open the door but stopped at Ducky's next words. "Have you put in the request for someone to fill Tony's place?"

Tony froze. _What?_

"I didn't say I was going to request anyone."

"Jethro." Ducky sounded resigned, as if they'd had this conversation before. "I'm afraid it's time."

"Not you too, Duck," Gibbs sighed. "Did Jen put you up to this?"

"Not at all, although I do know she is quite concerned about it. It's one thing to have Tony on desk duty -"

"I know."

"But with this new treatment, it's very possible that he won't be returning for -"

"I said, I _know_." There was quiet, and when they spoke again Tony could only pick up a few words here and there. ""...already thought about it...a little more time...take his place..."

_Take my place?_ Tony leaned against the door, pressing his forehead against the cool surface, and closed his eyes. So, he was being pushed out, then. It had to happen sooner or later - eventually, they would have to get sick of him not pulling his weight and need to get someone in who could do the job. Expecting it didn't make it hurt any less, though, and along with the hurt came a surge of anger. Dammit, he wasn't ready to call it quits yet! Getting someone TAD to the team in his place felt like another step in a long, slippery slope that ended nowhere good. Moved from field work to desk duty, now temporarily replaced...that was only one away from being out for good, and _that_ would only happen if...

_See? Slippery slope. Quit thinking about something that's not gonna happen._

Ducky must have said something Gibbs didn't like, because Tony could hear him now loud and clear. "Realistic? Don't talk to me about realistic, Duck - it doesn't _get_ any more realistic than this!" Ducky said something else in calming tones, and the voices dropped again. "...next week..." he heard Gibbs say.

Tony thought back to the spreadsheet he'd shoved in a drawer beside his bed, under a laminated list of TV channels and Sunday's dinner menu. Next week. He'd be out of here by then if everything went smoothly. That was the major hurdle - it was kind of hard to be on desk duty if he couldn't actually get to his desk. Once he was home, it should be a piece of cake to sweet talk his way back to the office. He could show up early, make sure he was there and working when the rest of them arrived. It would be much harder to make him leave than to stop him from coming in the first place. After that, he'd just have to drop reassurances at the right places and be extra-careful how much he let them see.

His knees were threatening to buckle, and Tony choked back a laugh. Here he was trying to come up with a way to convince Gibbs, Ducky, Jen, all of them that he was perfectly capable of at least remaining on desk duty, yet he hardly had the energy to stand up. _Making a real strong case for yourself there, DiNozzo. _He tried shifting his weight but was too unsteady and only managed to slam his shoulder into the door. The voices stopped at the sudden noise.

Cover blown, Tony quickly opened the door. "Hey, Boss, Ducky," he said with a shaky smile, trying not to let on how much he'd overheard. He leaned on the doorframe and waited out a wave of dizziness. It was a good ten feet to the bed but nothing he couldn't handle, especially since there was a chair along the way. Now, if they would just_ move_...

Gibbs' initial relief at seeing Tony upright and mobile faded quickly when he realized he was holding on to the doorframe for dear life. "What the _hell _are you doing!"

"I had to pee."

He and Ducky grabbed Tony's arms and hauled him over to the bed just as his legs were about to give out for good. "That's why they give you the little buzzer, DiNozzo. It's like magic - you press it and a nice nurse comes to make sure you don't pass out."

"I wasn't gonna pass out," Tony said lamely. "DiNozzos don't pass out. You know that, Boss."

"The hell they don't."

Tony looked at Ducky for support. "Ducky, help me out here, would ya?"

"Sorry, Anthony," Ducky said, patting him on the arm. "I have to side with Jethro on this one, I'm afraid. But I'm pleased to see that you're up, even if it was foolish to do so on your own. I take it that you're feeling better?"

"I'm feeling great," Tony said. 'Great' may have been a bit of an exaggeration but compared to the past couple of days, it wasn't far from the truth. "They did this blood patch thing this morning - sounds weird, I know, but whatever it was, it worked.'

"A blood patch?" Gibbs wasn't sure he'd heard Tony right. "What is this, Dracula?"

Tony looked at him, impressed. "Very good, Boss," he said. "If we're going that route, though, let's go with _Underworld _- then we get Kate Beckinsale. In leather. Or maybe _From Dusk Till Dawn _- Clooney was fantastic in that, and you can't go wrong with Tarantino."

"Y'know, Dracula was a book first, DiNozzo." Gibbs mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. "And that still doesn't tell me what the hell a blood patch is."

"Ah, of course," Ducky said. "Jethro, you know the headaches Tony was experiencing were caused by cerebrospinal fluid leaking from the site of the lumbar puncture. A blood patch uses his own blood to seal off the hole and allow the body to repair itself."

"What he said." Tony grinned, a smile that, for the first time in days, actually reached his eyes. Gibbs was more relieved to see that than he cared to admit.

"It's a fascinating procedure," Ducky continued. "Deceptively simple, really, yet amazingly effective. I remember a time in medical school that I saw it used on a gentleman who'd suffered debilitating headaches for months. He was better within the hour - the poor man nearly cried in relief. No one could blame him; after all those months of pain, having the solution be -"

Gibbs cut to the point. "So the headache's gone, then?"

"Yep." Gibbs gave Tony a pointed look. "Almost," he amended. "Close enough - seriously, Boss, I'm fine. Better than fine."

"Now, that's what I like to hear," came a voice from the doorway. Dr. Weiss came in, holding Tony's chart and smiling herself. "Hello, Agent Gibbs." Her eyes lit on Ducky. "And Dr. Mallard! It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Likewise, my dear," Ducky said, quickly getting to his feet and kissing her cheek. The two had developed a mutual respect after working together to get Tony back in the hospital after his first chemo session - a respect that, Ducky said, was born of having to handle someone as stubborn as Anthony DiNozzo.

"I have some good news," she said, taking Ducky's seat at his insistence.

"Jessica Alba's finally going to be on Dancing With the Stars?"

She laughed. "Not quite, Tony."

"Eliza Dushku's going to be on Dancing With the Stars?"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.

"Sorry, Boss."

Dr. Weiss opened his chart. "The results of your lumbar puncture are back, and they were clean. There is absolutely no evidence of CNS involvement."

"CNS?"

"Central nervous system, Jethro," Ducky said. "That's excellent news!"

Tony had to agree. "Does that mean you don't have to stab me in the back anymore?"

"Not exactly," Dr. Weiss said. "Far, far less often than we otherwise would, though." Not the answer Tony wanted to hear, but he could work with it. "You would be getting intrathecal chemo every two days if there had been signs of circulating lymphoblasts. As it is, you're just looking at twice during the A cycle of chemo."

"With headaches like that every time?" Gibbs asked.

"No," she replied firmly. "That severe of a headache is not a common occurrence, and if it does happen again we can use another blood patch. It seems to have worked well."

"It sounds like a nicotine patch for vampires," Tony said. "Worked great, though. I haven't felt like biting anyone for hours now."

She let that one slide. "Your blood work looks relatively good as well," she said. "We're on the right track. The problem with this type of aggressive lymphoma, though, is that chemo alone is sometimes not sufficient. We need to get you into remission, and I'm confident that we can do that, but then I think we need to take the next step."

"Which is?"

"A transplant."

* * *

_A/N: You all have been amazingly patient waiting for this update! :-) I got very stuck for a bit but I think things are starting to shake out now, at least for the next couple of chapters. I hope! I didn't start out thinking this would be the longest thing I've ever written, but it's turned out that way and I'm learning that writing longer pieces presents its own sets of challenges. Thank you for the encouragement to keep going - it was VERY much appreciated! :-)_


	19. Roleplay

_A/N: Fair warning - the beginning of this chapter is a bit heavier on the medical jargon than I usually get. Don't worry - it doesn't last the whole time. ;-)_

* * *

_Have you seen the way he acts sometimes?_  
_And when you ask,_  
_he'll say that he's okay._  
_Have you seen how well he pretends?_  
_Laughs out loud,_  
_before he looks away?_

_-Lene Marlin, "Never to Know"_

_

* * *

_

There really needed to be one of those "For Dummies" books on this, Tony thought as Dr. Weiss launched into an explanation of an autologous stem cell transplant. Or better yet, Cliffs Notes, because what she was saying didn't make a hell of a lot of sense. To Tony, at least; Ducky was nodding and seemed to have no trouble following her. Then again, he _was_ a doctor, so he had a bit of an unfair advantage.

Tony had expected to hear the stuff everyone knew about bone marrow transplants. The biggest hurdle would be finding a donor. They would test siblings first, if he had any, which he didn't, and then hope to find someone in the registry who would be a close enough match. But this...

"So, wait," he interrupted. "You're saying I don't need a donor?"

"No," Dr. Weiss replied. "With an autologous transplant, you serve as your own donor."

"Then I'm missing something," Tony said. "If I could be my own donor, I wouldn't need a donor in the first place. Right?"

"Not exactly," she said. "Hear me out. I promise this will make sense when I'm done."

Oddly enough, it did, and it only took a few translations from Ducky to make it happen. The best way to treat his type of lymphoma, she explained, was with very high doses of chemotherapy. Lower doses could get him into remission, but there was no guarantee he would stay that way, especially in such an aggressive case. The problem was that getting the dose high enough would obliterate his immune system to the point that it wouldn't matter if the lymphoma was wiped out for good. He would be left without functioning bone marrow, which would be, in medical euphemism, an "adverse outcome" of the kind that would land one on Ducky's table.

"We still start with getting you into remission," she said. "That's step one, and with some luck, we may see that in a few weeks, after your next cycle. Once we've achieved remission, we move onto step two."

"I finally get to find out what step two is?" Three blank faces looked back at him, and Tony quickly realized that none of them were likely to have ever seen South Park. "Never mind." Good thing he hadn't started talking about stealing underpants.

"Step two is when we harvest stem cells for transplant. You'll receive injections of G-CSF to encourage your body to produce more healthy cells. Once they're harvested, they'll be treated to make sure they're clear. Step three is called conditioning, and is the final round of treatment to completely supress your immune system. Then the healthy stem cells will be infused. We should see engraftment and the production of new cells within a couple of weeks."

"But I still end up spending months here, right?" Tony said. That was the part he had been dreading most about the possibility of a transplant. The idea of spending weeks on end cooped up in isolation...there was a very real possibility that it would drive him completely and utterly over the edge.

"Not at all. Even with allogeneic transplants - those where a donor is used - hospitalization times are much shorter than they were in years past. If everything goes well, you should be home within a few weeks."

Tony felt like he'd just been given early parole for good behavior. "Really?"

"Really. One of the benefits of an autologous transplant is that the risk of graft-versus-host disease we normally see simply isn't present. You're receiving your own cells; there's nothing foreign for the body to reject. As a result the recovery is usually much faster and less complicated."

Tony's shoulders relaxed, and a small smile lit his face. "A few weeks. I can work with that," he said. He didn't like it, but it was better than the alternative. He risked a quick glance at Gibbs, who, as he'd expected, was giving him a look that clearly said, _Well, yeah, we can work with that DiNozzo. Not much of a choice._ He could tell, though, that Gibbs understood - and echoed - his relief.

It was about time they got some good news.

It wasn't until he was alone again that Tony let himself think about the conversation he'd overheard. Rather, the pieces of the conversation; he was left to fill in the blanks on his own, but really, how many blanks were there? Jen was clearly pressuring Gibbs to put him on leave. Ducky seemed to be in agreement. He had no idea how the rest of the team felt, but in the end how they felt wasn't going to matter. Regardless of how hard they worked, the director simply could not leave her Major Case Response Team one person short for what would delicately be called "an undetermined period," which was a nice way of saying "we don't know if he'll be back."

_But she doesn't _have_ to leave them short_, Tony told himself. He raised the head of the bed so he was sitting up and flipped the TV back on. Now that his head was no longer attempting to escape to another ZIP code, the familiar boredom was beginning to set in. He'd always been that way. No matter how how bad he felt, unless he was unconscious or close to it, he couldn't stand being inactive for long periods of time. Returning to work after two weeks of leave when he had _Y. pestis_ was only one example. He'd chased suspects on a barely-healed busted ankle; sparred with Gibbs while nursing bruised ribs (and still managed to knock his boss to the mat once or twice, thank you very much); and written off numerous colds, flus, and God-knew what else to "allergies" rather than staying home and staring at the walls.

Gibbs had said "next week." Tony wasn't sure what, exactly, was going to happen 'next week', and he sure as hell hadn't been about to ask Gibbs. As far as he was concerned, it didn't matter. He was getting out of here on Sunday, if everything remained on schedule - and he refused to entertain the possibility that it wouldn't. Come Monday morning, he would be at his desk as always.

_And what makes you so sure they want you there?_ The little voice entered his head unbidden. _Maybe you're dragging them down. Maybe they want someone else brought in - someone who can actually be a contributing member of the team..._

He knew better than that. If he got pulled, it wasn't because they had asked for it. They wanted him there.

Didn't they?

Since Gibbs wasn't there to do it, Tony mentally headslapped himself. He could practically hear Gibbs' voice: _Do I need to spell it out for you, DiNozzo? They want you there, and you damn well know it._

"Yes, Boss," Tony said to the empty room.

And....now he was talking to himself. _Forget the cancer - maybe they should make me pass a psych eval before letting me come back._ He turned up the TV, and forced himself to stop thinking.

* * *

He was released Sunday afternoon, with the rest of the chemo cycle scheduled for outpatient visits. On Monday morning, he was waiting at the table in Gibbs' kitchen, playing Tetris on his phone and picking at a slice of dry toast, when his boss came downstairs. Tony carefully kept his eyes on the phone, preparing himself. He was ready. Gibbs was going to tell him that he should stay home, that he _would_ stay home, that he was being officially sidelined, and Tony had a response lined up for every possible argument Gibbs could make. He held his breath while Gibbs poured coffee from the waiting pot, wondering which tactic he should use first.

As it turned out, none of them were necessary. Gibbs merely glanced at Tony and said "You're up early."

"Am I?" Tony feigned surprise. "I thought you were just running late again." He was careful to keep the joking note in his voice - Gibbs running late was about as likely as McGee becoming a Luddite - and his effort was rewarded with a faint half-smile. Tony grinned. At this hour, pre-coffee, that was the equivalent of an outright laugh from the boss.

He set the phone aside and pulled the sports section from the paper, then waited silently, trying to read, while Gibbs finished the first mug of coffee and poured himself a second. The two had developed a comfortable morning routine over the past couple of months. It mainly consisted of staying out of each others' way and saying very little until Tony was fully conscious and Gibbs was fully caffeinated. Considering that neither had killed the other yet, they had it down pretty well. Tony figured it was best not to deviate from that unless Gibbs did so first.

Gibbs waited until Tony was firmly ensconced behind the paper, then studied him carefully while pretending to scan the headlines. He knew that Tony was already on the defensive; any hint that he was being examined more closely than usual, and Tony would put on a show that even Gibbs would have trouble seeing through. It was clear that he had no intention of staying home. Not of his own volition, at least.

Gibbs had promised Ducky he would make a decision about Tony's leave, or lack of it, once he was out of the hospital. Well, he was out - and Gibbs still hadn't decided what to do. He knew that Tony would go to any lengths to avoid extended leave. Gibbs had no problem backing him - _if _he was convinced that Tony was healthy enough to handle it. It was getting hard to tell, and Tony wasn't helping matters.

Tony's body language told him more about his senior field agent's determination to make everyone think he was fine than it did about how he was feeling. His posture was relaxed, but with a forced energy; his smile easy. Yet Tony couldn't hide the dark circles beneath his eyes, or the faint lines of pain around his mouth, and while he was trying to look like he was eating breakfast, he was really just fiddling with it.

It should have been an easy call. It wasn't. Any outside observer would say that Tony needed to be home, resting - and that outside observer wouldn't know a damn thing about Tony. Gibbs knew what taking him off duty would do to his morale. Tony _was_ the job, in a way that few could understand.

_Ah, to hell with it_, Gibbs thought. He could at least give him a chance to be honest. "You sure you're up for this?"

"Never felt better," Tony said without missing a beat.

"Because you look like crap."

Tony put the paper down and looked directly at Gibbs. This was feeling very familiar all of a sudden. "Y'know, Boss, the last time you told me that I almost got blown up."

"You should have taken the extra leave then, too."

"I didn't need it then, and I don't need it now." He pushed his chair back from the table and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Ready?"

Gibbs stared at him for a long moment. Then, evidently reaching some kind of conclusion, he drained his mug and stood. "Let's go."

He followed Gibbs to the car and took a deep breath before getting in, readying himself. _Remember, you're fine. Just keep your head down and keep working. _It couldn't be that hard. He was an expert at undercover work. This was just another assignment: going undercover as a healthy man. Nothing to it. He had another two weeks before he had to go back into the hospital. Making it through two weeks should be no problem.

He'd done it before; he could do it again.

* * *

Tony had never realized how many ways there were to make it look like you were eating. For instance, who would have thought you could peel a bagel? The one in his hands was losing its golden brown coating beneath his deft fingers, leaving just the spongy insides. He worked at it slowly, wondering if he could get it all off in one piece, like an apple.

The bagel had appeared on his desk as it did every day, the timing suspiciously close to Gibbs' morning coffee run, and he accepted it without comment. It was his concession to everyone's bizarre conviction that he needed to eat breakfast. Tony begged to differ. He didn't see the point when so little of what he ate stayed put for long. He was willing to bet the team wouldn't be so hell-bent on eating if half of what _they_ forced down came with a round-trip ticket.

He shook his head, trying to wake up a little, but only succeeded in making himself dizzy. _Dammit._ The first couple of days back this time around hadn't been too bad. After that, though, things had started to get more difficult. His cell counts continued to fall and his body began to protest being forced into normal activity. Tony wasn't even allowing himself the catnaps in Abby's lab that he used to indulge in. There was too much at stake; if he couldn't get through a day at a desk, then what good was he to the team?

It was a good question. He had made it through an entire week, though not without feeling like he was watching over his shoulder at every turn. Every time Gibbs spoke to him, he braced himself for a confrontation. And was it his imagination, or were Ziva and McGee starting to lose patience with him? They kept exchanging glances, and once he'd come back to the bullpen to find them engaged in a hushed conversation that stopped immediately as soon as they saw him. He tried to tell himself he was being paranoid, but...

Gibbs was watching. Tony didn't have to look up to feel his boss's steely gaze. He slowly, pointedly put a piece of the bagel in his mouth and chewed, keeping his eyes fixed on his computer screen. Lots to do. Background checks to run. Phone calls to make. Case reports to review. Bad guys to catch. Tony was a Very Busy Special Agent.

And that was the point, in the end. That was what he had to show them, that he was too busy to be pulled. They needed him here. Ignore the shaking hands and heavy-lidded eyes. Just keep producing, keep them distracted with all the great stuff he was turning up.

His stomach lurched, and he flinched, biting the inside of his cheek. _Right on schedule_. He stood, picking up the file that he'd placed on the corner of his desk. A prop, set for this morning's exit cue. "Going to run this down to Abby," he said. "Something's screwy with the ballistics report Metro sent over."

"I can take it down, Tony," McGee said, already half out of his chair. Ah, McGee, ever helpful. So helpful he was about to help Tony right into an extended leave.

"I got it, McEager," Tony said, a bit more sharply than he'd intended. "Not a high enough geek quotient on this one for you to waste your time. No bips or beeps in sight."

"You mean bits and bytes."

"Hey, whatever does it for you. I don't judge." Tony managed an impressive facsimile of his usual wicked smile, and escaped to the men's room, praying it would be empty.

* * *

Cliche or not, Tony thought, he was so damn sick of being sick. He was sitting on the floor of the stall with his head resting on the wall, waiting to see if his stomach was done rebelling for the time being, when he head Ziva's voice. It sounded close. Too close.

"Tony?"

He pulled himself to his feet and opened the door to find Ziva leaning against the wall. "Ziva, in case you're confused, this is the men's room," he said, hoping to head her off at the pass. "Unless you're keeping a really big secret, you want to be across the hall."

"You're sick, Tony."

"Oh, c'mon Ziva, lighten up. Don't worry - I know for a fact you're all woman."

"That is not what I meant, and you know it."

Tony pushed past her to the sink. Bending over it, he splashed water on his face and rinsed his mouth, the liquid cool and soothing. When he turned back, she hadn't moved. He leaned heavily against the counter, hoping he appeared nonchalant and not like he was using it to keep himself upright.

Ziva simply watched him. He folded his arms across his chest, mirroring her posture. Might as well get it over with. "Then what _did_ you mean?"

"You should not be here."

"I know - I should be in the Bahamas, drinking rum and watching girls in tiny little bikinis, but the bad guys don't take days off, so..." He shrugged.

She would not be deterred so easily. "You look horrible, Tony - "

"Aren't you good for the self esteem?"

" - and you obviously don't feel well - "

"Brilliant observation, my dear," he said in his best Sean Connery voice. "Is that a natural talent or did you -"

"Tony, stop it!" She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but didn't get very far. "You appear completely exhausted, you have not been eating -"

"It's normal." He parroted the line, his standard response to expressions of concern. "Nothing to be worried about."

"Oh, really," she said. "Then why don't you want Gibbs to know? Or Ducky?" He said nothing. "You didn't even take any time off after leaving the hospital. You were back here the next day."

"I didn't need any time off. I was fine. I _am_ fine."

"When was the last time you ate something?"

"I just ate!"

"No, you ripped it into little pieces and you still got sick! You cannot keep doing this, Tony!"

"Let it go, Ziva," he warned.

"You need to think about your health -"

"My health?" Tony gave up trying to stay calm. "Ziva, my health is pretty much _all_ I think about. I would love to forget about my health for one damn minute, but no one - including my body - seems willing to give me that option."

"I am just worried - _we_ are worried - that you are pushing yourself too hard."

"Who's 'we', exactly? You? McGee? Gibbs? The director?" He didn't give her a chance to answer. "Look, I'll be out of your way soon enough, Ziva. With any luck, I'll be checking in for the transplant in a few weeks. Either it'll fix this and I'll get better, or it won't and I won't. Either way, you won't have to worry about it anymore."

For a moment, he thought she was going to slap him. Shock and hurt warred with anger on her face, and her dark eyes bored into him. "That," she finally said, "was out of line, Tony."

The bathroom door swung open and McGee stopped short when he saw the two facing off. He looked at Tony, then to Ziva, then back to Tony. "Everything OK?"

"It's getting too crowded in here," Tony muttered. He snatched the file off the counter and pushed past McGee.

"Tony - " Ziva called after him.

"Gotta take this to Abby," he tossed back. "Important case. Dirtbags don't wait."

"Is he all right?" McGee said once Tony was out of earshot, but he knew the answer.

"What do you think, McGee?"

They watched Tony disappear around the corner, seeing the forced energy in his stride, the way he held his shoulders impossibly straight.

"I think we need to talk to Gibbs."

* * *

_A/N: I apologize if the beginning of this chapter read like a biology book. I've tried really hard to avoid overdoses of medical jargon, but it got pretty tricky here... I hope I managed to clearly explain the way an autologous transplant works, without putting you all to sleep! And as I am still not a doctor, as much as I wish I was, please take any factual errors with a grain of salt. ;-)_

_Also, I know there were some hopes that Gibbs, or another team member, would be a donor for Tony. There were a couple reasons I couldn't make that work. First, it's hard enough to find an unrelated donor that's a good match, and having it be one of the team, while making a good story, would have been a little *too* easy. Second - and this is the main reason - an autologous transplant really is, from what I can tell, the way to go for lymphoma when at all possible. I like the idea of it being easier on the patient, too. Tony needs to catch a break __somewhere._

_As always, thank you a million times over for the alerts and reviews! They make my day, every last one of them. :-)_


	20. Reality

Most people believed that Gibbs' coffee runs were purely for caffeination purposes, a misconception he was perfectly happy to let stand. It was the _main _reason, of course - anyone who worked with him knew better than to get in the way of a non-caffeinated Gibbs - but he also used the trips to get out of the office when he just needed to think. He didn't know if it was the walk, the coffee, or simply the routine of it, but by the time he got back he had usually worked through whatever had driven him out in the first place. Most often it was about a case, something that wasn't adding up. Occasionally, though, he used them to mull over the best way to handle a particularly tricky situation, generally defined as something he couldn't bulldoze his way through.

There had been a lot of coffee runs lately.

This one, he hoped, would lead him to some kind of decision about what to do with Tony. Gibbs had finally reached the limit of what he was willing to overlook. Unlike McGee and Ziva, he had the added perspective of seeing Tony after hours as well - or, for the past week, _not _seeing him. After last night, he finally knew why.

_It was sometime after midnight when Gibbs finally shut off the lights and climbed the stairs from the basement. He'd been unusually absorbed in his work tonight, taking solace in the familiar, repetitive motions of sanding, the scent of sawdust mingling with the indefinable earthy smell common to every unfinished basement, and the quiet. Mostly the quiet._

_The quiet, though, was what eventually drove him from his workshop. He hadn't heard a sound from upstairs all night, and with Tony around, that wasn't typical. Tony's evening routine generally consisted of flipping on some movie from the growing stack of DVDs beside the television, and trying to talk his boss into watching it with him. Gibbs occasionally gave in; even more rarely, he made it through the entire movie without getting bored or annoyed with it and retreating to the basement, his boat, and sometimes his bourbon. Still, the faint strands of dialogue (occasionally punctuated by explosions, depending on the movie) would filter down the stairs, signs of life from above._

_Tony, for his part, had taken to wandering down and sitting on the stairs after the movie ended. He didn't say much, aside from the occasional smart-ass comment about the farm report or whatnot. Once in awhile they talked about whatever case they were currently working, but mostly, Tony seemed content to watch Gibbs work. A silent Tony was out of character, perhaps, but Gibbs figured that Tony more than anyone had a right to have a lot on his mind.  
_  
_During the past week, though, Gibbs hadn't seen a sign of him once they'd walked in the door at night. Tony retreated to the guest room - his room now, really - and didn't emerge until they left for work in the morning. Gibbs assumed he needed space, and had no problem giving it to him, but he was getting the feeling there was more to it than that. If it happened again, they would need to have a little talk. Space was one thing, but he wasn't about to let Tony keep hiding like this._

_Gibbs made his way down the dark hall. The door to Tony's room was half-open, and as he passed he could see Tony sprawled across the bed, snoring softly, still fully dressed. As Gibbs watched, he muttered something in his sleep and rolled over, arm flopping off the side of the bed._

_So that was it. He hadn't been hiding at all - he'd been coming straight upstairs and falling asleep. Tomorrow, Gibbs knew, he'd be more than a little annoyed with Tony for letting himself get so exhausted he couldn't even get his shoes off before crashing. Tonight, the sight touched every parental instinct Gibbs had._

_He slipped into the room, initially intending just to remove Tony's shoes and at least get him under a blanket. He was untying the second shoe when Tony's sleepy voice said, "Am I late?"_

_"Nope. Go back to sleep."_

_"OK." Gibbs thought he was out again, until Tony mumbled," 's cold."_

_"I know." It wasn't really that cold, but between having lost weight and being perpetually anemic these days, Tony had a hard time staying warm. If he was awake enough to notice it, though, leaving him with just a blanket wasn't going to cut it. "C'mon. Get in bed."_

_Once they managed to get him down to his boxers and T-shirt, Gibbs pulled back the covers and Tony, still mostly asleep, crawled under them. "Never thought...you'd be tucking me in, Boss," he said, yawning hugely. "That's...Abby's job."_

_"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." Gibbs paused. "Sleep in tomorrow, would you?" Getting him to agree while half-asleep might be cheating, but Gibbs had no problem with that._

_"Mmmm." Too late. He was out again._

This morning, he'd found Tony sitting at the table waiting for him as usual, as if nothing had happened. Maybe, as far as he was concerned, it hadn't; Gibbs couldn't tell if he even remembered it. Whether he did or not didn't really matter. His mask was firmly back in place, and when Gibbs tried to suggest he take the day off, he flatly refused, insisting that he didn't need it. _Like hell you don't_, Gibbs had thought, but he didn't press him. It would be addressed soon enough, one way or another.

And he had been right about one thing: he _was_ annoyed with Tony. Damn annoyed. Gibbs usually felt like he had a pretty decent handle on his senior field agent, but for the life of him he couldn't see what Tony was hoping to accomplish by pushing himself to the breaking point. He'd gotten used to Tony being overly demanding of himself; this was taking it to a whole new level of ridiculous.

Ziva and McGee coming to him that morning had only reinforced his feeling that it was past time to deal with the issue. For awhile he simply let them talk. Ziva had a laundry list of concerns - Tony wasn't eating right, he wasn't resting enough, he was pushing himself too hard, and on and on. "I tried to talk to him about it, Gibbs, but he did not want to listen," she had said.

_Well, no, not when you corner him, Ziva!_ Gibbs could have told her that was a direct route to making Tony shut down, but from the look on her face she'd either figured it out for herself or had it driven home for her by DiNozzo. Probably a bit of both. Still, he couldn't completely fault her for trying. What the two saw in their teammate worried them, as well it should. He'd promised them both that he would deal with it, and he had every intention of delivering on that promise.

The walk did its job; by the time he got back to the building, Gibbs had his plan of action mapped out. First stop: autopsy. As he cut through the squadroom, McGee said, "Boss, the director's looking for you. She said to ask you to come up to her office."

Gibbs didn't break his stride. "OK." He had no intention of going up to Jen's office. He knew perfectly well what she wanted to talk about, and he didn't have an answer for her yet. No sense wasting both of their time.

"Uh, what do you want me to tell her?" McGee called to his retreating back.

"Whatever you want, McGee," he said, hitting the button for autopsy. "Be creative."

* * *

"Jethro!" Ducky looked surprised to see him, most likely due to the absence of bodies on the spotless stainless steel tables. "What brings you down here?"

"Tony."

"I'm afraid Tony's not here."

"I know that." Gibbs knew perfectly well that Tony was with Abby. Her lab had become something of a safe haven for him, and after what he'd heard from Ziva, Tony needed one. Gibbs was content to leave him be for now. "I need to talk to you. About Tony."

"Ah. I admit I _have_ been wondering when this might come up." Ducky moved a stack of files off a chair and Gibbs slid into it. "I take it our dear director has been pressuring you for a decision?"

"She would if I let her corner me," Gibbs said, hearing the doors to autopsy slide open.

"If you let who corner you, Jethro?"

_Jenny. _He was gonna kill McGee.

He turned in his seat to see her standing behind him. "Did McGee tell you I was down here?"

"No, just a lucky guess. I wanted to speak to you -"

"About Tony. I know." Gibbs sighed. He'd hoped to have a chance to talk to Ducky privately before he had to deal with Jen. Briefly, he considered kicking her out (in a respectful, professional manner, of course...sort of...) but decided against it. Regardless of what Gibbs himself preferred, in the end it would come down to what he heard from Ducky. "You might as well sit down."

"Gee, thanks," Jen said. She pulled a chair over and joined the two men at the desk. "Jethro, if we're going to get someone assigned to cover for Tony, I need his leave paperwork."

"I haven't said I'm putting him on leave, Jen."

She sighed, looking resigned. "He needs to go on leave - you don't have a choice."

"I don't have a choice? Or you're not _giving_ me a choice?"

"Please, be reasonable about this. I've seen Tony today - he doesn't need to be here."

"That's your expert medical opinion?"

"No, it's my opinion as Director of this agency. He's on leave, effective today."

Gibbs closed his eyes, cursing Tony's infinite stubbornness, and his own failure to rein him in sooner. "This is a mistake, Jen," he said. "Do you have any idea what leaving will do to Tony?"

"I'm more concerned about what staying will do to him," she replied.

"If I may..." Ducky began tentatively.

"By all means, Doctor," Jen said.

Gibbs didn't waste any time. "Can he handle it, Duck?"

"I don't know, Jethro."

"Not helping. I need a yes or no."

Gibbs eyed him closely while he considered. "If," he began slowly, still thinking, "he continues the way he has this week, no. He will either push himself to collapse, or overtax his already-weakened immune system.

Jen started to speak, but Ducky wasn't finished. "But, if he slows down, allows himself to rest, perhaps works fewer hours...then, all things remaining equal, I believe he will be all right."

"OK, then." As far as Gibbs was concerned, that settled the matter. "He stays."

"It will be difficult, though," Ducky said. "Anthony does not know his own limitations - or, rather, he does not accept them. He needs to be careful, listen to his body, allow himself to rest when he needs to, or he _will_ be putting his health at risk."

"You let me worry about that, Duck."

"Whoa - now hold on just a minute," Jen cut in.

"Ducky said it's fine, Jen - what else do you need?"

"I don't know that I'm comfortable with this."

Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stay calm. Jen didn't get it, and she never would. He was aware that she had come to know Tony well during the La Grenouille op, but she never understood this side of him. The drive, determination, and dammed pigheadedness that led him to put his own health and safety at risk to get the job done, was also the force behind who Tony was.

"Trust me on this," he said. "Give me a week. If you're still convinced that he shouldn't be here, then you can pull him."

Jen looked skeptical. In the end, though, Gibbs knew that she _did _trust him. And that was what he had been counting on. "All right," she finally said. "You can have your week. But you need to handle this, Jethro," she said. "If you don't, then I will."

"Oh, don't worry," Gibbs said. He stood to leave. "I'll handle it."

* * *

By the time Gibbs got back to his desk, Tony had returned and was buried in a stack of files. He said very little for the rest of the day, as though he were trying not to call any attention to himself, and McGee and Ziva pretty much stayed out of his way.

Once they were gone, Gibbs looked across the bullpen to Tony. He was slumped at his desk, chin resting on his hand.

"Tony."

No answer.

"DiNozzo!"

Tony started, head snapping up. "On it, Boss!" He blinked, then squinted at Gibbs. "Uh...what am I on?"

"Your way home, that's what you're on." Gibbs couldn't help smiling. He'd seen that DiNozzo many times before. Disheveled, half-awake, and still ready to move at Gibbs' word.

Of course, he thought, it was usually at around 0700, after Tony had clearly pulled an all-nighter at his desk. Not after a typical workday.

Gibbs slid his chair back. "Let's go. Grab your gear."

Focused now, Tony quickly turned back to his computer screen. "Just gotta finish this up."

"It can wait, DiNozzo." The glow of the monitor highlighted the pain and exhaustion written across Tony's face. Gibbs mentally kicked himself, Ziva's words coming back to him yet again. _"I do not know what he is trying to do, but he is going to kill himself doing it, Gibbs!"_ He'd known she was right, known Tony was pushing himself too hard. But now, in the harsh light of the screen, it was as if he were seeing Tony for the first time that day. How had he let this go on for so long?

"No, really, Boss, I'm almost done." He peered closely at something on the screen, then blew out a breath of frustration and resumed typing at top speed - or what passed for top speed with DiNozzo.

"Tony." Gibbs waited, but either Tony had become so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't hear him, or - more likely - he was hoping Gibbs would give up and let it go. "Tony!" Still no response.

_Enough of this crap. _He was obviously sick if he thought Gibbs would be so easily deterred. He slid his chair across the floor, came to a stop in front of Tony's desk, and reached out and unplugged the computer.

"Hey!" Yep. That got his attention. "What the hell are you doing?"

Gibbs raised a brow. "Want to try that again, DiNozzo?"

Tony took a deep breath. "I mean," he said slowly, deliberately, "I'm not finished yet. If you need to go, I can get myself home."

"This is not about me," Gibbs said. "Tony, c'mon - you're exhausted, you look like you're about to fall over."

"I'm. Fine." He turned away and began flipping through the file on his desk.

Fine. Sure, he was _fine. _Of course he was. Tony was always fine - he could be bleeding from a damn artery and he'd tell you he was fine, and probably make some sort of damn joke about it while backing away to make sure he didn't get blood on your shoes. "If I hear that word from you one more time..." Gibbs broke off. Tony's eyes were still glued to the file, carefully avoiding any eye contact. Gibbs had to stop himself from reaching out, from grabbing him by the chin and _forcing_ Tony to look at him.

"What, exactly, are you trying to prove, DiNozzo?" The worry, the anger, the utter frustration that had been building all day - hell, all _week _- were dangerously close to the surface. "That you can push yourself till you collapse? That you can keep going until your body gives out? Because that's exactly what's going to happen - you understand that, right? All this treatment, the hell you've been through - well, just screw that! Forget doing _your_ part to make sure this works - you'll just keep going until you're too weak to - "

"I am _not_ weak." Tony nearly hissed the words, but Gibbs didn't miss them. _Not weak_. So it came back to this. _What the hell have I taught him?_

"I know you're not, Tony."

"No, I don't think you do." Finally, Tony looked at him. "I don't think you know that at all. You all think I'm someone who needs to be taken care of. Who can't handle it. Who isn't strong enough to get through a day at a goddamn desk!"

Gibbs felt like he'd been hit. "Is that how you think we see you?" he said quietly. His anger faded as understanding dawned. _Did I do this? Did _we_ do this?_

"That _is_ how you see me. Why else would you be trying to figure out how to get me out of the way?" Tony looked at his watch. "It's 1900, Boss," he said, his voice harsh, mocking. "Only five hours left in the week. If you're going to meet your deadline, you'd better get moving. I'm sure there's paperwork or something to sign - there's always paperwork, right?"

_Deadline? _"Tony, what - "

"Got someone lined up to replace me? Lee? Jardin? Sorry I didn't get my desk cleaned out." He stood, shoving his chair out of the way and grabbing his backpack.

"Tony -"

"Y'know, you could have at least told me to my face if you didn't think I could take it. Or were you hoping I'd just give up on my own? Save you the trouble of kicking me out? Well, let me make it easy - "

"_Hey_!" Gibbs' bark snapped him out of his tirade. "Sit down, Agent DiNozzo."

He glared at his boss for a second, then sat, staring at the floor. In the silence, Tony could hear his own breathing: rapid, shallow, furious.

"Are you through?" He had expected some show of anger on Gibbs' part. A headslap; yelling in return; perhaps the stare that made you wish for one of the first two. But there was none. Instead, Gibbs spoke in that quiet, calm voice that always made Tony wonder if someone had died - or was about to.

"Yeah." He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

"Good. Then would you mind telling what the hell you're talking about? What deadline?"

"You were supposed to have me out of here this week."

"Really. I must have missed that."

"Oh, don't give me that, Boss," Tony said. He was well aware that his tone would normally get him headslapped into next week, but what the hell. He'd already dug the hole; might as well jump on in. "I heard you talking to Ducky about replacing me."

"_What_?"

"At the hospital. Before Dr. Weiss came in. You said next week. Which is this week, since that was last week."

"So, according to that...timeline...I'm supposed to be replacing you this week."

"Right."

"Uh-huh. And you heard me say that?"

Tony nodded slowly.

"Then there's either a problem with your hearing or your memory, DiNozzo. I never said that."

"You said 'next week.'"

"You're right; I did. I told Ducky that I would wait and see how you were doing 'next week' before making any kind of decision about your leave."

"Oh." Tony's shoulders sagged, and he slumped in his chair. _Oh, shit...and I just said...did I really just..._ He had to force himself to keep looking at Gibbs, and not let his head sink into his hands. Well, wasn't he well and truly screwed?

"Yeah. _Oh_."

Gibbs fixed him with a long, level stare until Tony felt himself starting to squirm. "So...um...did you make a decision?"

"Well, I don't know, DiNozzo. Looks like that's up to you."

"I...don't follow you, Boss."

"Let me spell it out for you, then. If you keep pulling this bullshit trying to work yourself into the ground to prove some point, I will yank your ass so fast your head will spin."

_Too late,_ Tony thought. But, he'd said _if_...which meant there was another option. "And..."

"And if you get your head on straight and quit trying to ignore your limitations -"

Tony laughed nervously. "I don't have limitations, Boss..." Gibbs just looked at him. "Well, OK, maybe a few, but it's not like..."

Gibbs was clearly not amused. Tony cleared his throat. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"I was saying that if I can trust you to be smart about this, to take time out when you need to take it, then no, I'm not putting you on leave. _If_ I can trust you to do that. And let me tell you, DiNozzo, I'm not feeling too confident about that right now."

All hint of humor gone, Tony said quietly, "I can do that."

"Can you?"

His immediate impulse was to reassure Gibbs that of course he could, but he stopped himself. Could he? It hadn't been so bad up until this last week, and he wasn't sure now if he was feeling worse from the chemo or from pushing himself so hard. If it _wasn't_ just overwork...well, he'd be taking more downtime than before, and that did not sit easy with him.

But if the alternative was sitting at home, bored to death and waiting for...whatever...then hell, yes. He could swallow his pride, shut his mouth, and do what he had to do. If it meant he could stay...

"Yeah, Boss. I can."

"OK, then. We'll give it a shot. But I am damn serious, Tony. Be smart about this."

There was one other thing Tony needed to know. "Um...what about McGee and Ziva?"

"What about them?"

"Are you sure they want me here?"

"Well, yeah, DiNozzo. What makes you think they don't?"

"It's extra work for them. They've seemed kind of, y'know...annoyed..."

Gibbs gave him his patented look that said: _I know you're not an idiot, but you're sure doing a good impression of one._ "You're damn right they're annoyed. They've been watching you run yourself into the ground for the last week. They're _worried._"

Maybe that was true, but he was not about to become the object of anyone's pity. "Look, if I'm not going to be any good to the team - if it's just because you feel sorry for me - "

Gibbs snorted. "I'm not running a charity here. I wouldn't keep you if we didn't need you."

"But if I'm not pulling my weight...I mean, I can't be in the field as it is, if I have to cut my hours too..."

"Tony, I don't need 'someone who can be in the field'." Gibbs was starting to sound thoroughly exasperated. "I can always get an extra pair of hands to work a scene - that's not the issue. I told you a long time ago that you were irreplaceable, and I meant it. Don't make me say it again."

Tony bit back a smile. _You just did_.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Boss."


	21. Halloween

Tony rolled over on the futon in Abby's lab, yawning. He felt like a little kid, what with all the afternoon naps, and was considering putting in a request for some graham crackers and one of those little cardboard cartons of milk. Perhaps after that he and Abby could break out the Play-Doh.

The downtime did help, though. Tony had to admit that, if only to himself. Funny the difference a little thing like taking a break when you needed one could make. In the month since his...discussion...with Gibbs, he had done a pretty good job of cutting himself some slack. Sure, there had been some bitching and moaning, and a couple of headslaps that, in retrospect, were well deserved. He had hated every last minute of it. But he'd done it, even taking an entire three days off after his second round of chemo.

Technically, it was the second round of the new course of chemo; round four overall. Tony curled up on his side, face half-buried in the pillow, and wondered when his life had been reduced to a series of numbers. Ten weeks, four days since he'd been diagnosed. Twenty-four days of that spent in the hospital in five separate admissions, another ten days at Gibbs' house when he should have been at work. Two blood transfusions; one infusion of platelets; three bone marrow biopsies; two lumbar punctures; and, at one time or another, eighteen different medications. All driven by endless numbers quantifying infinite lab tests.

There were other numbers, too. Ones that made Gibbs' jaw tighten and made Abby's eyes water when she thought he wasn't looking. Ones that he steadfastly refused to think about, because in the end, all the statistics in the world didn't mean a dammed thing. In the end it came down to a simple yes/no, true/false, what McGee would call a Boolean value.

_Then flip a coin and shut up about it, DiNozzo,_ he told himself. He shoved that line of thinking to the back recesses of his mind in one well-practiced sweep, as he did every time it threatened to overtake him. _There's only one number you need to be worried about right now, and that's how many minutes you'll have left to live once Ziva finds out what you did to her keyboard. _McGee wasn't the only one with computer skills - turned out there were many fun things hidden under that little "Control Panel" icon.

Besides, Gibbs spoke Russian. He could help her fix it.

Tony grinned to himself, and it felt only slightly hollow. _Better. Much better. _

Opening his eyes, he was met with a giant, smiling snout and a pair of beady little black eyes mere inches from the tip of his nose. His involuntary yelp of surprise brought Abby running.

"Tony! Are you OK?"

"Abby? Why is Bert taking a nap with me?"

"He was tired." Of course he was. Hippos could only fart for so long before they got plain tuckered out.

"Next time, tell him to stay on his own side. He was hogging the covers."

Abby laughed and plopped down on the futon beside Tony. "Have a nice nap?"

"Naps? We don't need no stinking naps!"

"Have you been watching Blazing Saddles again?"

"Abby!" He pressed a hand to his chest in mock dismay. "Please. Mel Brooks stole that from _The Treasure of the Sierra Madre_. Great old movie - Bogart plays this guy who's prospecting for gold in the Sierra Madre mountains, and they come across these bandits who try to convince them that they're _Federales_." He winced in memory. "By the way, don't ever try that line on Gibbs. He is apparently a firm believer that we do, in fact, need stinking badges."

Abby leaned over, looking at him a bit more closely. "You feeling OK?"

"Sure. Why?"

"You look pale."

"I am perpetually pale, my dear Abby."

"Yeah, but you look extra pale."

"Well, it _is_ Halloween," he said. "Maybe I'll just be a ghost." She narrowed her eyes, and he quickly changed the subject. "Speaking of which, where's your costume?"

"I brought it with me - I have a party to go to tonight."

"Are you really going as Betty Boop?" She nodded. "Aw, Abs, I've gotta see that. Why didn't you wear it?"

"Are you kidding? McGee didn't get a darn thing done when I was Marilyn - I wasn't gonna do that to him again." Tony laughed and started to sit up, but Abby stopped him. "Whoa, hang on there, Mister. You have another 15 minutes or Gibbs will just drag your butt right back down here."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Abby, c'mon. I'm fi -" She stopped him with a glare that would have done Gibbs proud. He gave her his best charming smile, not having the heart to argue with her too much. Truth be told, he seemed to need the rest today more than usual. Despite ten hours of sleep, he was still dragging. "You know that 15 minutes is not going to make a difference."

"Maybe not," she conceded. "But it makes Gibbs feel better, so - "

"What would make me feel better is if you had something for me, Abs."

"Gibbs!" Abby leapt up. "You're early. Major Mass Spec won't be - "

Her computer beeped, and she stared at Gibbs. "I should have known. You always know when I have something. Sometimes before _I_ know I have something. It's like you have a psychic connection into my subconscious. Wait!" She stopped, closing her eyes and pressing a finger to each temple. "OK...what do I have?"

Gibbs leaned over and murmured in her ear, "You have ten seconds to tell me what the Major turned up or I'm withholding Caf-Pows for a week."

Her eyes flew open, and she snatched the Caf-Pow from Gibbs' hand. "Somebody's a little cranky," she said, marching over to the mass spec with Gibbs on her heels.

Tony joined them. "Be nice, Abby," he said. "We have apparently found the upper limit of Gibbs' tolerance for idiot petty officers."

"The guy filed a formal complaint about getting low-quality cocaine from his shipmate," Gibbs said, sounding disgusted. "You don't get any more 'idiot' without being clinically braindead."

Abby had pulled the mass spectrometer's output up on the main screen and was examining the readout. She shook her head. "It's mostly talc and cornstarch, Gibbs."

"Baby powder?"

"Yup. I should be able to determine the brand since we have the relative concentrations, but that's not going to get us very far. There's almost no cocaine in there." She perked up. "Hey, did you know that there are traces of cocaine on four out of five dollar bills? It's not like that many are actually being used for it - I think enough people saw that fried egg "this is your brain on drugs" commercial that we're not _that_ bad off, although I couldn't eat eggs for like a month after I saw that - but the powder is so fine that that residue from one bill can contaminate an entire cash drawer."

"So you're saying that guy would have been better off just sticking a dollar up his nose?" Tony leaned over, examining a series of small spikes in the graph. "What are these?"

"Standard atmospheric impurities," Abby said, turning to look at him. "They - uh, Tony?"

"What?"

"Your nose. You're bleeding."

"Again? Crap." He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the counter and quickly pressed them to his nose. "I swear, Boss," he said, "I wasn't testing the evidence."

"Stop talking, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "Pinch it."

"I know," Tony said. He sat down on the edge of the stool and tried to listen to Gibbs and Abby as he tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. The nosebleeds were more annoying than disturbing. When the first one had happened a few days ago, Gibbs and Abby were ready to pack him off to the ER; luckily, Ducky had been there to back up Tony's protests. "Low platelets are a common effect of chemotherapy, Jethro, and the occasional nosebleed is not uncommon. As long as the bleeding stops when he applies pressure, there is no need to drag the boy to the hospital," he had said to a skeptical Gibbs and a shaken Abby. Tony could have hugged him, especially when he continued with a story about the worst bloody nose he had ever personally witnessed - "A school chum of mine at Eton was struck square in the face with a cricket ball..." and Gibbs wandered off before he could finish.

He waited, listening to Abby and Gibbs discussing evidence, or the lack thereof. It wasn't an earth-shattering case to begin with; a naval petty officer had been selling cocaine out of his footlocker - or at least, it was purported to be cocaine. Apparently one of his customers had found the merchandise to be somewhat lacking in potency, and had been stupid enough to report it.

_"God, it's like _A Few Good Men_," Tony had said when McGee called in with the sitrep. "Except there it was a dime bag of oregano."_

_"Don't start, DiNozzo," Gibbs had warned. "Aren't you due for a break?"_

_"C'mon, Boss. Are you saying you can't handle the truth?" He was launching into full-on Jack Nicholson as Colonel Nathan R. Jessups when Gibbs' palm met the back of his head, and he figured it was a good time to head down for that break. Maybe later he could talk Gibbs into letting him do the interrogation._

"How're you doing over there, DiNozzo?"

"Um, it's still bleeding, Boss." Tony felt the first twinges of worry. They usually didn't last quite this long.

Abby came over and knelt down beside him. "Tony, that's a lot of blood," she said. "Let me see." He could tell something was wrong even before Abby said anything. The tissues were almost saturated, and as soon as they were moved it was clear that the bleeding was getting worse. "Gibbs, come look?"

He was there in a second. "Abby, call Ducky, would you?"

"Boss, I think it looks worse than it is."

"Stop talking." Gibbs sat down beside Tony, taking Abby's place as she ran to the phone.

"Got him, Gibbs. Hey, Duck - Jimmy?" She broke off, seeing Jimmy's face on the screen. "Where's Ducky?"

"I think he went to lunch."

"Lunch? What the hell do you mean, lunch?" Gibbs called.

"Lunch, Boss," Tony said from behind his tissues. "Y'know, that meal that we mere mortals consume between breakfast and dinner?"

"I said stop talking, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, unamused. "Palmer - get your ass up here!"

A very flustered Jimmy arrived a few minutes later. He usually had Ducky as a buffer, and evidently the prospect of dealing with an unfiltered, agitated Gibbs had him terrified. As soon as he saw Tony, though, his entire demeanor changed. "Tony," he said firmly, stepping past Abby over to Tony's side. "Don't lean your head back. You'll end up with blood in your stomach."

"Thanks for the happy thought, Palmer." Tony leaned forward as quickly as he dared. "I could just be a vampire for Halloween, then," he said, trying to take his mind off the idea of blood and his stomach, two things that really did not need to go together.

Jimmy ignored him. Apparently he'd been taking lessons from Gibbs. "Abby, do you have a towel? These tissues aren't going to cut it." He moved them carefully away from Tony's nose. "How long has it been bleeding?"

"Uh, ten, fifteen minutes?"

Abby emerged from a cabinet with an old T-shirt. "Will this work?"

"Perfect." Jimmy took it from her and handed it to Gibbs. "Agent Gibbs, can you hold this? Pinch the bridge of his nose...no, a little further down...there, you've got it." Gibbs, for once, seemed perfectly glad to do as he was told. "Tony, are you feeling dizzy or lightheaded?"

"Getting there."

"Which means you were there five minutes ago," Gibbs said.

"Jimmy, what can we do?" Abby asked anxiously. "Do you need ice packs or something? Would that help?"

"Probably not," Jimmy said. "It doesn't hurt anything, but they haven't really been shown to help, either. The best thing we can do is keep applying pressure."

"Abby, why don't you try to call Ducky?" Gibbs suggested gently. Tony was about to say that he thought Palmer had things under control, but then his sluggish brain realized that Gibbs was trying to keep Abby busy so she didn't wear a hole in the tile pacing back and forth.

"Let's take a look," Jimmy said. Gibbs slowly moved the shirt away from Tony's nose. "It's still bleeding. Tony, I think you need to go to the ER."

"Can't I just wait for it to stop?" Tony protested weakly.

"No, you cannot, DiNozzo," Gibbs informed him. "You probably need platelets and you're not going to get them sitting here on your ass. Let's go."

Tony didn't bother to complain any further. Gibbs was right - he probably did need platelets. It was strange hearing him say it, though, and Tony realized he'd been hearing a lot of things like that from Gibbs of late. _Sorry, Boss,_ he thought. Gibbs, the one person on earth whose hatred of doctors and hospitals rivaled Tony's own, had been forced to hang around them so much that he now spoke fluent hematology. _If he starts detailing the intricate workings of his cell phone next, I quit._

Abby caught up with them halfway to the car. "I've got Ducky," she said, stopping to catch her breath. She held out the phone to Gibbs, but he nodded his head towards Jimmy. Abby handed him the phone.

"Dr. Mallard?" He paused. "Right, epistaxis approximately 20 minutes duration. He's diaphoretic, mild tachycardia at 115 bpm, respirations near normal - " He stopped, listened, then blushed slightly. "Sorry, Doctor. Uh, he's breathing fine, just a little fast. Said he's feeling lightheaded...applying pressure for now, but I noticed some bruising on his arm when I took his pulse, and he looks pretty pale. With his medical history, I thought it...uh-huh...already did...yes, did that too...right. Right, we're on our way." He suddenly smiled, a bit of pride flashing across his face. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll let them know." He hung up. "Sorry, Tony. Dr. Mallard agrees - you need to head to the ER."

"What else did he say?" Tony heard Abby ask as they reached the car.

"He said I was talking too much like a med student."

"You are a med student."

"That's what _I _thought!"

* * *

"Can you walk?" Abby hovered anxiously at the car door as Tony slowly got out.

"Of course I can walk," he grumbled, trying to sound more sure than he felt. His knees were definitely getting wobbly. "Geez, you guys, it's just a nosebleed."

"Maybe so, DiNozzo, but it's bleeding like a gunshot wound."

"Sure - if I'd been shot with a BB gun." Gibbs rolled his eyes, and strategically placed himself slightly behind Tony as the group made their way into the ER. No sooner had the sliding doors closed behind them when Tony's eyes lit on a passing nurse, and he made an odd choking sound.

"Oh, _hell_ no." He turned, trying to head out the doors, but Gibbs already had him by the elbow and turned him right back around. "Boss, come on. She was wearing devil horns. This cannot be a good sign!"

Abby giggled. "Tony, it's Halloween."

"I don't care," he grumbled, his words muffled by the T-shirt. "I'm warning you, if I see the Grim Reaper I am leaving, and even Gibbs will not be able to stop me."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said with a rueful chuckle. "If we see the Grim Reaper I'll be right behind you."

Keeping his eyes peeled for spectres and other portents of evil, Tony sat with Abby while Gibbs and Jimmy spoke to the admissions desk. His head was spinning for real now, and despite his protests to the contrary, he was damn glad to be sitting down. They could see Jimmy leaning over the desk, earnestly explaining something to the clerk, while Gibbs stood behind him with his arms folded, glaring.

"So, Palmer tells them what happened, and Gibbs tells them what's gonna happen?"

"Pretty much. Looks like they got the picture." She nodded towards a nurse making a beeline for them. "Could just be all the blood, though."

"Yeah, I do kinda look like something out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre."

As the nurse drew closer, Tony sat up. She was cute - and she was wearing bunny ears.  
_  
_

* * *

Whoever kept pushing the reset button on his life really needed to find a better hobby, Tony thought, poking listlessly at the container of green jello shivering on his dinner tray. It felt like every time he started to get used to being out of the hospital and getting on with things, he had to turn around and go right back in. He'd been in for two days this time; apparently, presenting at the ER with active bleeding and a platelet count of 7,000 made the medical types a little twitchy.

Even after a transfusion got him safely out of the "risk of spontaneous internal bleeding" zone, though, Dr. Weiss had decided to keep him for observation and further tests to see how his treatment was progressing. Tony had been less than pleased:

_"Those were supposed to be next week."_

_"You're here now, so let's get them out of the way."_

_"But they were supposed to be outpatient."_

_"And now they're inpatient. And before you threaten to sign yourself out, let me remind you that I have emergency contact information from five very concerned individuals, with your boss at the top of the list. Don't make me use it."_

_"They can have what's left when I'm done with him." Beth, who was flushing out his Hickman line, smiled sweetly in response to Tony's glare._

_"Were you two born with that sadistic streak, or did they give it to you when you signed on here?"_

_"Born with it," they replied in unison, and Tony groaned. He was so screwed._

He picked up the green jello, watching it wiggle in its little plastic cup, and tried to judge the distance from the bed to the trash can. Easy shot, and since he hadn't bothered to take the seal off...

"Hah!" A long arc sent the container straight into the basket. "DiNozzo in before the buzzer for three!"

"Not hungry?" Tony looked up to see Dr. Weiss standing at the door, watching him with an amused smile.

"That's not food," he replied. "That's troll snot."

"You need to eat."

"I miss pizza." He sighed and slumped down against the pillows. "Or rather, I miss pizza that smells and tastes like pizza."

"I know," she said, sounding genuinely empathetic. "It _will_ get better. I promise."

"I'm holding you to that."

She closed the door softly behind her and took a seat by his bed. "Tony, I have your test results. Let's talk."

* * *

Gibbs arrived later that night, Abby in tow. As Tony had been griping more than usual about his "unjust detainment without due process," Gibbs expected to find him watching a movie, or out bugging the nurses, or possibly plotting his escape.

Instead, they found him sitting on his bed in a silent room, staring out the window and looking oddly lost. He looked up when they came in, and it seemed to take a second to for him to focus and their presence to register. "Hey," he said quietly.

It was all Abby needed to hear. Gibbs watched silently as she climbed up on the bed beside Tony. He reached out and pulled her to him, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "What is it, Tony?" she asked.

"Dr. Weiss came by. She had my tests back."

Abby bit her lip. "And?"

Tony's eyes met Gibbs', and he smiled faintly. "I'm in remission."

* * *

_A/N: Thought it might be fun to give Palmer a little chance to shine. And the devil horns thing? Completely true - happened to me several years ago. Do not go to an ER on Halloween!_

_Reviews are much loved and will bring you cuddles and chocolate and good fanfic karma! ;-)_


	22. Uncertain

_I can't be losing sleep over this, no, I can't  
And now I cannot stop pacing  
Give me a few hours, I'll have this all sorted out  
If my mind would just stop racing_

_'Cause I cannot stand still  
I can't be this unsturdy..._

_-Lifehouse, "Somewhere In Between"_

* * *

_"Dr. Weiss came by. She had my tests back."_

_Abby bit her lip. "And?"_

_Tony's eyes met Gibbs', and he smiled faintly. "I'm in remission."_

* * *

"What?" Abby's head snapped up, and she pulled back to look Tony in the eye. "You're serious? I mean, you're not joking, are you? Because that really wouldn't be funny - you can't joke about something like that, Tony."

"I'm not joking, Abs."

"Oh my God!" She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him backwards. "I can't believe it! When did you find out? Does Ducky know? What about Ziva and McGee? Why didn't you call us?"

"Abs." Gibbs sounded amused. "Let him breathe, huh?"

"Sorry, Tony! Did I hurt you?" She loosened her grip, looking slightly abashed, but quickly rebounded once he assured her he was relatively undamaged.

"Nope, no one else knows yet. And I didn't call you because you only missed the doctor by about ten minutes."

"You've gotta tell them," Abby said. "They won't believe it!" She was buzzing with excited energy, practically bouncing up and down on the bed. Tony was exhausted just watching her.

"Tell you what," he said, exchanging glances with Gibbs. "Why don't you tell them?"

"Don't you want to do it yourself?"

"Nah. They're all yours." Abby looked confused, and Tony didn't blame her. He was confused himself. All he knew was that he needed a bit longer before talking to everyone else.

"Tony." Abby tipped her head to the side and stared at him, his lack of enthusiasm renewing her concern. "Is there something else you're not telling us? Because you don't look very happy."

"No," he said emphatically, although it was a fair question. "That's everything, I swear. And of course I'm happy- I'd be crazy not to be." It wasn't a lie; he _was_ happy. He was just...a whole lot of other things at the same time. He forced a smile, trying to match Abby's excitement and knowing that he wasn't even coming close. "Give them a call, Abs."

"OK." She still seemed skeptical, but she dug her cell phone out of her pocket.

"Not here," Gibbs said mildly. Abby looked as if she were going to protest, but he gave her a very pointed look and signed something quickly. She glanced at Tony, nodded, and headed off down the hall.

"Y'know, Boss," Tony said once she had left. "You aren't invisible when you do that. Are you going to tell me what you said or am I going to have to come up with my own translation?"

Gibbs didn't even try to avoid the question. "I told her I'd try to talk to you."

"I like my version better - it involved Megan Fox and hot fudge."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "I don't wanna know, DiNozzo. What I do want to know, though, is what's bugging you."

"What makes you think something's bugging me?" Gibbs simply looked at him, as if to say _do you think I'm stupid_? Tony leaned back against the pillows, trying to figure out how to respond. For once, he really wasn't trying to be evasive. He just didn't know how to answer.

_Remission_. It was what he'd been waiting to hear since he started treatment, and Tony had expected to be relieved at the news. Maybe excited - thrilled, even. And he was. What he had not anticipated, what he was still trying to absorb, was the swirl of other, nameless, darker emotions that had followed the first. They were so fresh, so unexpected, that he was still trying to figure out what the hell they were.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Tony knew Gibbs was waiting for an explanation. He would have gladly provided one, if he had had the first clue how to articulate it. _Confused_ was about as close as he could get. Finally, he fell back on his old escape route. "I'm tired," he said. "That's all."

"Uh-huh." Gibbs waited, but Tony didn't respond. "Did the doctor say anything else?"

"Nope, not really, I need to keep doing those G-CSF injection things and they'll start trying to harvest stem cells. Once we get enough, it's full speed ahead. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Pretty quick," Gibbs said, his tone carefully neutral.

"Yep."

Another silence. "You going to tell me what else is bugging you?"

Tony sighed. "I don't know, Boss. Ask me later, OK?" He was prepared for an argument, but Gibbs simply nodded, and didn't push the issue. Tony was unspeakably grateful. He took a long, slow breath and pushed the entire mess aside, promising himself that he'd have plenty of time to figure it out.

By the time Abby bounced back through the door, he was ready for her excitement. "They're coming over," she said. "I didn't think you'd mind, Tony - we have to celebrate!"

"That depends," he said, pretending to think about it. "If it's my party, I get veto power, right? Because last time, McGee tried to bring Twister."

"He did not," Abby said with a laugh.

"He wanted to, though. I could see it in his eyes." She socked him playfully on the arm, and began firing off a barrage of questions as to what exactly Dr. Weiss had said, and what happened next, and when he would have the transplant, and on and on. Tony was glad for the distraction, and he carefully avoided looking at Gibbs. He didn't want to see the concern on his face; it was subtle, carefully shielded from Abby, but Tony knew it was there, even if Gibbs had delayed giving him the third degree.

_Please, Boss. Later. Deal with it later. Because right now, I don't know._ _I just don't have a single dammed clue._

* * *

_2:00 a.m._

He should be asleep. He wanted to be asleep. But as Tony crept down the stairs to the basement, he knew sleep was not likely to come anytime soon. A few hours of staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet his racing mind, had made that quite clear. A movie, his usual distraction, was out of the question; he simply couldn't focus on anything but what was waiting for him in the morning.

So the basement it was, then. Gibbs always seemed to find peace down here. Maybe some of it would rub off on him. Tony switched on the light as he hit the floor, the bare bulb illuminating the boat and casting shadows deep into the corners. The sawdust tickled his nose, and he stifled a sneeze, but he didn't mind. The familiar scent was already calming. He traced one finger along a silk-smooth piece of wood. A rib, or a joist, or whatever the hell it was. Gibbs had probably told him once, but all the boat talk seemed to go into some black hole in his head and he couldn't keep it straight.

_Add that to the list, then. _ He couldn't keep much of anything straight right now. Nothing that was running through his head made the least bit of sense. He padded over to Gibbs' workbench; his feet were freezing on the bare concrete, and he wished he was wearing something warmer than his old sweatpants and thin T-shirt. Well, that was easily remedied. Blowing the dust out of a grimy coffee mug, he poured a splash of bourbon in the bottom.

The bourbon burned like hell going down his throat, but it warmed him as he'd known it would. _This is a dumbass thing to do, DiNozzo_, he told himself. He hadn't had anything to drink in months. God only knew what kind of interaction the alcohol would have with the assortment of pills he gulped down each day, like a handful of Skittles. He was pretty sure he had every color pill except green. _Taste the fucking rainbow. _At least he wasn't currently on chemo. That combination would have been a disaster waiting to happen.

With any luck, all the pills would be gone soon. In the morning he would be checking into the hospital to begin the last course of medication, the final and complete suppression of his immune system. Then the transplant, a few weeks for it to take, and he'd be home free. So easy, so simple.

_So simple_. Tony forced back a laugh. If it was so damn simple, then why was his mind choked with thoughts he couldn't sort out? Why was he down in a cold basement, drinking his boss's bourbon, instead of in a warm bed where he belonged?

He poured another drink, then carried it with him back to the boat. A stray sanding block lay on one of the wooden beams, and he picked it up, hefting its weight in his hand. _With the grain. _That much he remembered; that much, he knew. He could hear Gibbs' voice in his head as he absently circled his thumb across the rough surface of the block. With the grain; always with the grain. Slowly, he placed the block on the beam and began to move it gently up and down. With the grain.

The alcohol and the repetitive motion swirled together and began to loosen the tangled recesses of his mind. _Later, _Tony had told himself that day in the hospital, when the confusion had first threatened to overwhelm him. In the week since his release, he had managed to keep putting _later_ off, to the point where he thought he'd almost forgotten about it. He should have known better, should have known that he couldn't keep chasing it away. In the silent darkness of his final night at home, _later_ had finally come.

So he sanded, trying to name each unraveling strand of emotion so that maybe, maybe, it would begin to make sense. _What is "Tony DiNozzo's Screwed-Up Brain" for $500, Alex? One word answers, now - don't complicate things. _Fine, then; one word. He was confused. He was nervous. He was anxious. He was uncertain.

Simplistic though it was, the strategy worked. His thoughts and emotions began to crystallize, a word at a time, until he was finally aware of one very raw, very definite fact.

He was terrified.

The realization hit him and he stopped, leaning against the wood for a brief moment. Then he began to sand again, harder this time, trying to hold back the reality he had uncovered. But it wasn't going away. The line of thought he'd been fighting all week - hell, for months, really - had finally broken through the dam, and fear was rushing in to overwhelm everything else.

The _what ifs_ came fast and furious. He was checking into a hospital tomorrow and turning himself over to a medical process that made sense in the daylight, yet seemed completely and utterly insane now in the middle of the night. His mind sped through the list of things that could go wrong. Complications from the chemo, which sounded as if it would make what he'd already been through seem like a pony ride. Problems with the stem cells. An infection, some minor bug that could kill him since his immune system would be gone.

_Or maybe it just won't work at all._

And if it didn't work...then what? The transplant was the ace-in-the-hole, the secret weapon, the magic bullet. The one thing they could do if nothing else was working. So if _that _failed...

A warm, calloused hand closed over his, stopping it in mid-stroke.

"You trying to sand a hole in the wood, DiNozzo?"

Tony froze, the voice breaking through his rising panic. He loosened his grip and let the sanding block drop to the floor with a clatter. "Hey, Boss," he said, trying to keep his voice level. He turned to find Gibbs standing behind him, tousled hair and tired eyes evidence that sleep had been elusive for him, too, tonight. "We need to get you some decent scotch, or maybe some whiskey. Cause this," he raised his mug, "this might as well be paint thinner."

"Why do you think I keep it down here?" Tony braced himself for Gibbs to fuss at him for being awake, for the alcohol, for bare feet on a cold floor. Instead, his boss found a mug of his own and poured a splash of bourbon into the bottom.

Tony folded his arms across his chest. "Aren't you going to tell me that I'm not supposed to be drinking?"

"Nope. You already know that."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Gibbs looked amused. "I live here, DiNozzo."

"You know what I mean, Boss. It's 2:30 in the morning."

"I noticed."

"And it's cold down here."

"Noticed that too." Gibbs picked up a sanding block and went around to the other side of the boat. He ran a hand over the wood, testing it, then selected a spot that needed smoothing and began to work.

Gibbs could tell Tony was watching him, waiting for him to say something, to ask some question, even to scold him for being up at such an hour when he surely needed the sleep. But he said nothing. Tony's defenses were down, and a wrong word now would bring them flying back up. Gibbs was perfectly content to stay silent and wait him out.

As he'd suspected, he didn't have to wait long. Tony's voice was quiet, but clear. "What if this doesn't work?"

"It'll work."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

Softer now, so that Gibbs had to strain to hear. "And if it doesn't?"

Gibbs stopped sanding. "Then we deal with it."

He looked over at Tony, and for the first time in a long while, saw raw fear in the younger man's eyes. He rounded the boat and grasped Tony's shoulders, waiting until Tony was looking directly at him. "Hey. We will deal with it. _If_ it comes to that. Don't borrow trouble."

Tony just nodded, and Gibbs could tell he was barely keeping himself together. Gibbs was many things: a Marine, a hardass, a bastard, but he was also a father. That was an instinct which, once awakened, never went away, and over the years he had developed a good feel for which role needed to be played when. Had it been Abby, or even Ziva, Gibbs would have pulled them in, let them cry it out. Lord knew, he'd done it with Abby enough times.

But this was Tony, and he was standing on a fragile precipice. Attempts at comforting him would only push him over that edge, and Gibbs knew Tony would not thank him for it later. Instead, he settled for a final squeeze of his shoulders and a look that he hoped like hell communicated the thing he needed Tony to understand. _I know, and it's OK._ And he waited, waited until Tony's slight nod told him that something had registered, something had broken through. Until he knew that Tony had heard him.

Then he returned to sanding, keeping his eyes fixed to the wood, and pretended not to notice as Tony closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. A deep, shuddering breath, and the rhythmic scratch of the sanding block told him that the moment had passed, that Tony had stepped back from that edge. Gibbs glanced up, and saw that the fear had receded. It wasn't gone completely, but there was a bit less panic in Tony's eyes.

"'Don't borrow trouble', Boss?" Tony said, with a hint of his usual humor. "What rule is that? Sounds more like something a grandmother would say."

"It _is_ something my grandmother said," Gibbs admitted with a wry smile. "But maybe it should be a rule. She had a point."

"Grandmas usually do. At least, when they're not lecturing you on the importance of settling down with a nice Italian girl and having lots of _bambinos_."

"I didn't know you still talked to your grandmother."

"I don't. She died when I was seven." Tony suppressed a shudder. "Those were some _weird_ conversations."

They worked in silence for awhile, Gibbs sipping at his bourbon. Finally, Tony laid the sanding block down. "It's freezing down here. I'm going to bed."

"Good idea."

"You should too, Boss."

Gibbs raised a brow.

"Y'know, whenever you're ready."

"Uh-huh."

"Night, Boss."

"Night, Tony."

* * *

Tony managed a few hours of restless sleep, finally crawling out of bed with a splitting headache as confirmation that drinking may not have been the smartest thing he could have done. A long, hot shower didn't help much. He dragged himself downstairs with his cap pulled lower on his forehead than usual, trying to get the brim to block out some of the light.

He peered into the kitchen, hoping to avoid Gibbs at least until he looked slightly less wrung out. No such luck; his boss was planted with his back to the door, reading the paper and sipping his coffee like he had nowhere to be.

"Y'need something, DiNozzo?"

Caught, Tony came all the way into the kitchen and sank into one of the chairs. "Either a gun, or 17 Advil."

Gibbs looked up from his paper. "That bad, huh?"

"How do you drink that stuff? I barely had any. I never used to be such a lightweight."

"Well, that's before you started mixing bourbon with - "

Tony was not ready for an I-told-you-so. "Yeah, thanks, I got it, Boss." He briefly considered hunting down the ingredients for his usual hangover remedy, but the mere idea made him want to gag. Instead, he let his head sink into his hands and just sat, consoling himself with the fact that at least a needle to the spine was not involved. _This _headache, he could handle.

The smell of coffee met his nose, and he opened his eyes to see Gibbs setting a steaming mug on the table beside him. Gratefully, he wrapped his cold hands around the mug and sipped. The coffee was black, and strong enough to give the bourbon some competition in its quest to double as paint thinner. And as far as he was concerned, Tony thought as the warmth and caffeine began to take effect, it was the elixir of the gods.

"I think I love you, Boss."

Gibbs chuckled, then laid his paper aside and drained his mug. "We need to head out. You all packed?"

Tony nodded. "Got everything, including Bert. Abby thinks he'll be good company. I'm not quite sure how to take that."

"I wouldn't be too sure either, DiNozzo."

They were halfway to the car when Tony finally worked up the nerve to mention what had been tugging at him all morning. Gibbs hadn't said a word about their late-night conversation, or what had passed for one, and Tony was hoping like hell that he wasn't pissed. "Boss, last night..I'm sorry if I..."

"DiNozzo, if you even think about it..."

Gibbs' growl made him quickly rethink his apology. "No, wait - I was just going to say...um...I'm sorry if I woke you up?"

"You didn't," Gibbs said. "You did, however, sand a serious dent in that rib."

"I did?" Tony swore he felt his heart skip a beat. Messing up Gibbs' boat was one step below messing with his coffee. Neither boded well for the offender.

"Yep."

Tony gulped, frantically trying to remember what the wood had looked like when he'd left. He couldn't have sanded that hard, could he? It would have taken hours...not that he was an expert. Hell, for all he knew, Gibbs had some kind of really high-powered super sandpaper he made himself from crushed diamonds that could strip the bark from a tree in seconds. _Ah, crap... _"I'm really sorry, Boss."

"Oh, don't worry. You're going to replace it as soon as you get back."

Tony was tempted to run back inside, just to get a quick look. It couldn't possibly be _that _bad. Even knowing so little about boats, he would have noticed if he'd completely destroyed the rib. And how, exactly, did one replace a piece of boat? It looked solid - he'd have to take apart the whole...

Then, he realized exactly what Gibbs had said. _As soon as I get back? _He stopped at the door to the car, peering suspiciously at Gibbs.  
_  
_"Boss, did I really screw up the boat?"

"Shut up and get in the car, DiNozzo." Gibbs' tone left no room for debate. Tony slid into his seat, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Shutting up, Boss." Then, under his breath, he added, "And thanks."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews from last chapter!! E-cookies have been baked and are in the mail. (I am not above a little bribery.) ;-)_

_For those of you who've slept since Chapter 19, a very quick reminder re: remission and transplant. Getting Tony into remission was the first step in the transplant process. They theoretically could stop there, but the lymphoma is aggressive enough that a relapse would be highly likely, which is why they're moving ahead with the transplant. Ignore me if you already knew that - just hoping to avoid possible confusion!_

_As for this chapter...I'm sure everyone would handle this sort of thing differently. I think even good news would be more complex in a situation like this, and all the more confusing for it. That's what I was hoping to get at here. Please let me know what you think! I can always bake more cookies... ;-)_


	23. Countdown

_A/N: Thanks as always to those who are reading and sending notes and feedback and alerting and favoriting and all the other action verbs I can think of! _

_Apparently, the days leading up to a transplant are like a countdown, with the transplant itself being Day 0 (or blast-off, I guess.) Fair warning: silliness ahead, followed by a bit of mush, but how can you not have a little mush on the big day? ;-) This one was fun to write - I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

_Day -5_

"Abby, where do you come up with this stuff?"

"It's true! Supposedly people notice a smell like garlic when the stem cells are infused."

"You are totally making that up. Garlic?"

"Yep. Or creamed corn."

Tony wrinkled his nose. "They're stem cells. They're not gonna smell like anything, except maybe that sweet, sweet no-chemo-ever-again scent. Not that I have the first clue what that smells like."

"Garlic, evidently." Tony grabbed a pillow and threw it at her, where it bounced neatly off her head. She grabbed it and stretched out on the bed opposite Tony. "Seriously, though," Abby continued. "It's not the stem cells, it's the Dimethyl sulfoxide they use as a preservative when they're frozen."

"You come across the weirdest stuff in forensics," Tony said.

"Believe it or not, that's never come up in my lab." Abby held up a booklet. "I read it in your little packet of info here."

"Another one? Oh, yay. I can add it to my collection." Tony took the booklet she handed him and flipped through it slowly. "Where'd this come from?"

"One of the nurses brought it in," Abby said. "I can't remember her name. It wasn't Beth..."

"The one that always looks like she's eating a pickle, or the one who's six feet tall in flats?"

"The tall one."

"That's Alicia."

"Right. She brought it in when you left to pee."

"Which time?"

Abby pretended to consider the question. "Hmmm, I don't know. I lost track..."

Tony swatted her with the booklet. "You try getting several liters of fluid pumped into you and see how often _you_ have to pee."

"Not me. My bladder has been carefully trained over years of exposure to ever-increasing quantities of caffeine - which, by the way, is a diuretic. I can now drink three 48 ounce Caf-Pows before I have to go."

"That's...incredibly disturbing."

"I prefer to think of it as talented."

"Uh...should we come back later?" They looked up to see McGee hovering in the doorway, looking slightly disconcerted.

"Nah, c'mon in, Probie! Abby was just bragging about the fact that she has the bladder of a camel."

"Where did Abby get a camel's bladder? And why would she want one?" Ziva had evidently been right behind McGee, and she looked just as confused as he did.

"I cannot reveal the source of my random body parts, human or otherwise," Abby said, poking Tony's foot to shut him up when he started to laugh. "I keep it in autopsy - it blows up perfectly round and comes in very handy when Sister Rosita's carpal tunnel syndrome is acting up and she can't lift a bowling ball."

Tony nodded, barely keeping a straight face. "It doesn't knock down many pins, but it distracts the competition," he said. "Last time the other team set a record for most gutter balls in a single game."

Ziva shot Tony a look of such pure exasperation that he couldn't keep from cracking up, Abby dissolving into laughter right along with him.

"OK," Tony said, finally recovering his composure. "You two are in time for tonight's DiNozzo's Drive-in Double Feature."

Ziva frowned. "A 'drive-thru' would require a car, though, yes?"

"Drive-_in_, and it's alliteration, Zee-vah. Appreciate the poetry of it." Tony cleared his throat, adopting his best professor voice. "As I was saying, tonight we will be embarking upon a cinematic comparison of Tom Cruise's work before and after he went batshit crazy. Unfortunately, I was unable to locate the original footage of Mr. Cruise jumping up and down on Oprah's couch, so you will have to use your imagination. Miss Sciuto, if you please?"

Abby grinned, and hopped up to put the first DVD in the player. "We will begin with the timeless classic _Top Gun_," she said, mimicking his tone. "It is a fascinating examination of the relationship between macho men, fighter jets, and half-naked beach volleyball matches."

"Tony, haven't you seen this a million times? You can quote it in your sleep."

"You're missing the strategy, Timmy," Abby said. "Either we watch something he's seen over and over, or we pause the movie every twenty minutes so Tony can go powder his nose."

"Don't ask, Ziva," Tony said before she could get a word out. He was about to hit play on the DVD remote when Alicia came into the room, toting yet another IV bag.

"Sorry to break up the party, but I need to switch this out, Tony," she said, smiling apologetically. Tony smiled back. Alicia was almost as cool as Beth, and let him get away with a lot more.

"Anything you say, ma'am." He clapped his hands together for attention. "Take five, everyone. There's no popcorn, but candy and soda are available in the lobby. Bring back whatever snacks you want as long as I can't smell them." They scattered, and Tony turned back to Alicia. "Another one?" he said quietly.

"Six more to go," she said, and he groaned. "It's better than the alternative," she said, hanging the fresh bag from his IV pole. "You've been on large doses of some extremely powerful drugs for the last two days. All that at once can be seriously toxic if we don't flush it as we go."

"I thought 'toxic' was kinda the point."

"It is, but we'd like to keep all your organs working in the process. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Tony said, and was surprised to find that he meant it. "Hyper, actually."

"That would be the steroid," Alicia said.

"There go my plans for a pro ball career. I'd never pass a drug test." He made a face. "Just as well - I wouldn't be much good off the bench right now anyway."

The new bag connected, Alicia injected something into Tony's IV port. "That's your Lasix - the diuretic - and I think you're all set for now. I'll come check on you a little later."

"If you get bored, you can come back and watch movies with us. Once we're done with these I'm going to start a Pee Wee Herman retrospective."

She blinked. "Seriously?"

"I'm trying to see how much these guys will put up with," Tony said.

"Do I want to know who Pee Wee Herman is?" Ziva said. She slipped past Alicia, who was shaking her head as she left, and grabbed the seat next to his bed.

"Probably not," Tony replied.

Ziva handed him a small bag of animal crackers. "These were the most boring thing I could find in the vending machine."

"Perfect." Tony opened the bag and immediately started rooting around for an elephant.

Ziva watched him, a faint smile crossing her face. "You seem to be feeling well."

Tony nodded, biting off the elephant's trunk. "The first night sucked, but it always does. Other than that, I don't feel nearly as bad as I thought I would." He chewed quietly. "It'll get worse soon enough."

"Not necessarily."

"Yes, necessarily. If it means I never have to do this again, though, I think I can handle it."

"I know you can." Ziva looked as if she wanted to say something more, but Abby came barreling back into the room, McGee close behind her.

"Abby, you KNOW I love Junior Mints! That was the last box!"

"Not my fault, Timmy. You snooze, you lose."

"Children," Tony said. "I know kindergarten was a long time ago - do we need to have a refresher lesson on sharing?" He pushed the covers aside, hauled himself to his feet, and grabbed his IV pole. "You two work it out. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Abby called after him.

"Three guesses, and the first two don't count." He shut the bathroom door behind him, grumbling. "Damn Lasix."

* * *

_Day -2_

Lockdown had begun. Only two visitors at a time; a neutropenic diet; disposable anything and everything. No masks or gowns yet, but they weren't out of the question. All extra precautions against infection as the chemo continued its work.

Even without them, Tony would have known his cell counts were falling. The old fatigue had returned with a vengeance, and he found it difficult to believe he'd had so much energy just a few days ago. As for the neutropenic diet, it could have been a strict beer and pizza diet and it wouldn't have made a difference. Whatever appetite he had managed to regain had vanished completely. Food was simply not interesting.

As always, nighttime was the worst. Tired as Tony was, sleep came in short, unsatisfying snatches. Thirty minutes here, a couple hours there. In between, the worries and doubts would creep back in. Gibbs usually stayed, and that made it easier. It wasn't that they talked much, although Tony had found that his boss was a good listener on the rare occasion he did feel like spilling his guts. It was just that, when waking for the millionth time in the middle of the night, it was nice to look over and see someone in the chair beside you. Even if that someone was snoring.

Tonight, though, Gibbs was stuck in MTAC. Tony wasn't sure exactly what was going on - something about people in other time zones, although Tony wasn't sure why _they_ couldn't stay up all night if they wanted to talk to Gibbs so badly. Even though he didn't have much choice, Gibbs had been reluctant to leave Tony alone.

_"They've got a bug up their ass about something," Gibbs had grumbled. "I don't know what the rush is. Nothing's going to blow up if we don't touch base tonight."_

_"You sure about that?"_

_"Well..." Gibbs sighed. "Look, Ducky's been planning to come by anyway. I'll see if he's up for sticking around awhile once I'm gone."_

_"I don't need a babysitter, Boss. I'll be fine," Tony assured him. "Although, I can't believe I'm missing an MTAC slumber party. Make sure you take your PJs. And your toothbrush. And your pillow." _

_"DiNozzo..."_

_"Do you have a teddy bear? Do you want to take Bert?"_

Gibbs hadn't made any further noise about recruiting someone to stay with Tony, so the smartass comments had had the intended effect. And yet, he half wished he'd taken Gibbs up on the offer. Ducky's stories would have been either something interesting to listen to, or an excellent cure for his insomnia. Either would have been welcome. As would the company.

"Tony? Are you awake?"

He looked up to see Ziva standing in the doorway. "Hey, Ziva."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

She slipped into the room, taking Gibbs' usual spot next to the bed. "I brought you a present," she said, holding out the latest copy of GSM. "Page 47 is particularly interesting this month."

"Reeeeally..." he said, taking the magazine and laying it on the nightstand. "Fair warning - I'm kind of boring tonight." He knew he sounded tired - weak, even. Well, so be it. It was late and he wasn't up for pretending he had the energy to be good company.

"You don't have to entertain me, Tony. That is not why I am here."

"Did Gibbs send you?"

"No. I just thought you might not want to be alone."

"I'm OK by myself. Really."

"I know. But that does not mean you need to be."

"You must have better things to do."

"Like what? My gun is already clean."

Tony chuckled. "Well, then _you _can entertain _me_. Catch me up on what's going on back at the office."

Ziva obliged, and Tony relaxed. He only caught parts of what she was saying, but her voice was strangely soothing, and he felt like he was floating. Not really sleeping, but not exactly awake. It felt good. Peaceful.

She fell silent after awhile, and Tony opened his eyes to see her watching him thoughtfully. "Why'd you stop?" he said, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Ziva fiddled with a strand of hair, hesitating. "Tony," she finally said. "I am sorry I yelled at you."

"Ziva, you're always yelling at me. If you weren't yelling at me, I'd think you didn't care."

"I'm serious, Tony."

He yawned. "Are we talking about some time in particular, or is this a general _mea culpa?" _

"That day, in the men's room. I was...worried. Not to say that you weren't being - "

"Stubborn?"

"That is not the word I would have chosen," she said with a laugh, "but it will do. I...did not handle it well. I was out of line."

"Yeah. You were. Do it again and I'll sic Abby on you."

"Abby was just as worried, Tony."

"Damn. I was hoping you wouldn't notice that." He gave her a pointed look. "She didn't jump down my throat, though."

Ziva sighed. "I know. Tony...I _am_ sorry."

Tony watched her for a long moment. "Forgiven," he said quietly. "Now keep talking. You were putting me to sleep."

"That is a good thing?"

"Hell, yes. It's almost eleven. Good little cancer patients should be in bed. Santa Claus is watching, and I'm determined to make the nice list this year."

"Nice list?

"Yeah. You know - 'Gonna find out who's naughty and nice? He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake?'"

"Ah. Surveillance."

"Something like that." Tony closed his eyes. "Talk."

He fell asleep to the sound of her voice.

* * *

_Day 0_

"Congratulations, Tony. Your white count is down to 0.9 - you're officially neutropenic."

Tony pushed aside the copy of GSM spread across his lap. "That's like saying 'Congratulations - your house has been eaten by termites."

Dr. Weiss chuckled. "Maybe so, but in this case we put the termites there."

"So when do we call the pest control guy?"

"In about two hours. The transplant will be in the apheresis room right down the hall - all the monitoring equipment we need is already there." Making a note in his chart, she said, "The rest of your blood work looks good, relatively speaking. How are you feeling?"

Tony shrugged. "OK, just really wiped out. Ask me again in an hour and I'll probably have a different answer."

"That's normal, Tony. The chemo you received was extremely strong, and the drugs are still working - you'll likely continue to notice the effects getting worse over the next several days. Just remember - it may be slow, but things _will_ get better."

"Can I get that in writing?"

She smiled. "I'll even have it notarized for you."

"You're the best."

"Get some rest," she said patting him on the shoulder. "I'll see you in a little while."

After she left, Tony tried to go back to his magazine (Ziva was right - page 47 _was_ pretty interesting), but his mind was too foggy to concentrate. After a few minutes, he gave up and started flipping through at random. After all, it wasn't like he _really_ read it for the articles.

Beth arrived a few minutes later, carrying an assortment of medications and wearing a big smile. "Got lots of goodies for you," she said. "Pre-transplant meds - Benadryl, Ativan, and Tylenol. Your stomach doing OK?"

"Enough to handle these." He swallowed the whole lot at once with a gulp of water.

"You're getting to be a pro," Beth said, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. "Excited?"

"Getting there," Tony said, a bit surprised to realize it. He had expected to be more anxious than excited. The nerves had come and gone over the past few days, though never getting as bad as that last night at Gibbs' house. Yet now that the day itself was finally here, he was oddly calm. All the waiting and wondering wasn't over, not by a long shot, but it felt like he was taking a huge step toward an invisible finish line.

Where that finish line was, exactly, remained to be seen.

_It might not work._ The niggling little voice in the back of his head poked at him, testing.

_Yeah. Then again, it might. And if not... _He remembered Gibbs' piercing gaze, his calm, quiet voice. _Then we deal with it._

Tony wasn't entirely why that had calmed him so much. Deal with it - well, of course he would. What other choice did he have? But something in those few words had quelled the panic rising in him that night, and had kept it from reaching that fevered pitch ever since.

He looked up to see Gibbs and Abby coming in. Abby, so alive, vibrant with excitement. Gibbs, who always - always - had his six, whether he deserved it or not.

_We deal with it. _

It was only then, as Abby wrapped him in a warm hug, that Tony understood. It wasn't the handful of words that he kept coming back to. Really, there was only one that mattered.

_We._

* * *

Tony had heard people call the day of the transplant a "birthday". It made sense, in an odd way, and the nurses especially seemed to like it. There was an almost festive air in the apheresis room when Beth and Alicia arrived to start the transplant, with Dr. Weiss right behind them.

"Happy birthday!" Alicia said brightly. "You ready for the big day?"

"Sure," Tony replied. "Where's the cake and balloons?"

"Can't help you there," Beth said. "You're getting a really, really awesome present, though." She held up the bags of stem cells. "Aren't they beautiful?"

"They're frozen."

"They're gonna thaw them, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"That's good. I'm a warm-hearted guy. I wouldn't do well with ice water running through my veins, Boss. That's your job."

"I don't know, Tony. I've seen you in interrogation," Abby said.

"I'm usually doing my Gibbs impersonation." He ducked, but not fast enough to avoid the hand to the back of his head. A gentle hand - Gibbs really was pulling his punches these days.

The stem cells rested in a tub of warm water as Tony was hooked to a series of monitors. "We're going to do this slowly," Dr Weiss said. "Tony, this should be pretty painless. You might get a slight headache or a dry mouth, but that should be about it. If you notice any shortness of breath, be sure to say something - that could be a reaction to the preservative. We'll be keeping an eye on things, though, so don't worry. Sound good?"

Tony nodded. "You guys have me on so much stuff right now that I really just feel loopy. And sleepy. Sloopy. Like _Hang On, Sloopy_."

"I love that song!" Abby exclaimed.

"Wouldn't have thought that was your taste, Abs."

"My tastes are varied and wide-ranging, Gibbs," Abby replied. "Plus, Brain Matter did a great cover of it." She frowned. "At least, I think that's what it was. It might have been Louie, Louie. It was kinda hard to tell."

"Dr. Weiss, I think we're ready to go," Beth said, after checking one of the bags. Dr. Weiss agreed, and Beth hung the bag from Tony's IV stand and attached it to his central line. Tony stared at it as the liquid began to flow through the IV. It looked just like dozens of others that had hung from that pole over the past months, and it was hard to believe that the unassuming fluid now entering his body could actually save his life. He realized that Gibbs and Abby, too, had their eyes fixed on the bag, like they were waiting for it to start doing tricks.

"That's it?"

"That's it," Dr. Weiss confirmed.

"Huh. Kinda anticlimactic," Tony said.

"I don't think it is," Abby breathed. "I think it's fascinating."

Had he been slightly more awake, Tony would have been more likely to agree. As it was, he could feel his eyelids getting heavy, the fog that had been surrounding his brain growing thicker.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You have company."

Tony looked up through bleary eyes, and through the window of the apheresis room, he could see several figures. He blinked, and they came into focus. Ducky, Ziva, McGee, and even Palmer were standing at the window, watching. _They're here? All of them? _"What...?"

"They can't come in," Gibbs said. "Just two of us at a time, still. But they weren't about to miss this."

Tony smiled sleepily and lifted a hand in greeting. They all waved back, Palmer giving him a thumbs-up. "They're gonna be bored," Tony mumbled.

"Trust me, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "They're anything but bored."

Tony nodded, and leaned his head back. He wasn't going to go to sleep or anything. Sleeping through one's stem cell transplant had to be some sort of _faux pas_. It was probably in some Miss Manners column somewhere. The weariness that was threatening to overwhelm him was going to have to wait, even if he _was_ all tucked into this nice, comfy chair that seemed designed for napping. _ I'll just close my eyes for a minute, then see if Abby wants to play cards, or maybe...maybe Gibbs could..._

"Gibbs," Abby whispered a minute later, looking over at Tony. He was fast asleep. "Should I wake him up?"

Gibbs smiled. "Nah, let him sleep. We'll wake him up towards the end."

Abby nodded. She reached out and brushed a hand across his cheek.

"Happy birthday, Tony."


	24. Uphill

_The wicked king of parody  
is kissing all his enemies  
on the seventh day  
of the seventh week  
the tyrant's voice is softer now  
but just for one forgiving hour  
before the rise of his  
iron fist again_

_-Natalie Merchant, "Thick as Thieves"_

_

* * *

_The transplant was on a Saturday. By the following Wednesday, Tony was ready to call the whole thing off, ask for his old, sick little cells back, and escape to a tropical island somewhere that had never heard of modern medicine. "Flu-like symptoms, my ass" he muttered, rolling over for the twentieth time in a never-ending quest to get comfortable. Maybe if the flu virus had been given a battering ram and some hand grenades. Because unlike their esteemed leader, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Tony had had the flu before and he would take it any day over this.

"What was that, Tony?"

_Damn_. "Didn't say anything, Abs. What did I tell you about listening to the voices?" He was trying really, really hard not to complain - at least, not out loud.

It wasn't easy. Even as the new stem cells struggled to gain a foothold in Tony's body, the chemo continued to tear him apart from the inside out. Chills, nausea, mouth sores, muscle aches, bone pain - he was beginning to feel like the fine print at the end of one of those prescription drug ads. _This medication is to treat hangnails and may cause mild indigestion, headache, gangrene, brain hemorrhage, spontaneous human combustion, insanity, death, and eczema of the eyebrows. Ask your doctor if Pronail is right for you! _

Along with that checklist of fun came the unrelenting fatigue that simply would not go away, no matter how much he slept. Between naps, Tony repeatedly promised himself that, if he got through this, he would never complain about being tired again, no matter how many nights of surveillance Gibbs made him take. He had never slept so much in his life, and he hated the way time passed: crawling one minute, leaping ahead the next, leaving him with no idea what time it was - hell, what _day_ it was - or how long he would be awake before the exhaustion overcame him again.

_Quit your whining, DiNozzo! It could be worse. You could be trapped on that tropical island with only Trent Kort for company. _He sighed, disgusted with himself, and pushed his lunch tray to the side.

"Not hungry?" Abby said.

"You want the Jello?"

"What flavor is it?"

"Red."

"That's not a flavor."

"Around here, it is."

She eyed him. "You're still hurting, aren't you." That was putting it mildly; the sores that lined his mouth and throat were excruciating. The oral care routine he'd been given had proved about as useful as a voodoo ritual, and he was still amazed at the amount of pain one's mouth could produce. It hurt to talk, never mind swallow, which made eating next to impossible.

But damned if he was going to let Abby know. "Nope. I just don't like red."

"Tony, morphine doesn't help if you don't take it."

There was that minor detail, but it didn't make him any more likely to hit the little button on the morphine pump. His head was foggy enough already, and he had no desire to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in a medication-induced haze. Dr. Weiss's threat to put him on TPN if he didn't start eating more was the only reason he'd agreed to the pump in the first place. He had it; didn't mean he had to _use_ it.

"Have you _seen_ me on morphine?" he said to Abby, trying to distract himself. Forget foggy - the stuff made him positively goofy. The last time he'd taken it, he'd ended up saying...well, he wasn't sure exactly _what_ he'd said. All he knew is that he'd returned to work to find a gift bag on his desk with a copy of _Beaches_ inside. _I never did get anyone to own up to that._

Abby just smiled, humming something under her breath. Tony's eyes narrowed as he recognized as "The Wind Beneath My Wings."

"Abby..."

"What?" she said innocently. "I never told you you're my hero?"

His glare left her scrambling to change the subject. "Tony, um, maybe you should get some sleep."

He ignored her. "Abby, McGee and Ziva tortured me about that for a week. _Tortured_ me."

"You don't want you to wear yourself out."

"McGee installed a Bette Midler screensaver on my computer."

"Not sleepy! Okay!" She hopped up. "Let's try a movie."

"Bette Midler, Abby!" Tony tried to look indignant, but Abby gave him that little smile that would make him forgive her anything. _And she damn well knows it. _He rolled his eyes; he could never stay mad at her for long, and maintaining even a mild annoyance was taking more energy than he had.

"What do you want to watch?" she asked.

"You pick." It really didn't matter what she put on; Tony knew it wouldn't hold his attention for long. He'd gone from movie marathons to barely making it through reruns of "The Office." If this continued, in a day or two he'd be lucky to maintain focus through a Geico commercial, even his favorite ones with the cavemen. At least a movie would keep Abby from getting bored.

They settled in with "Hackers," and Tony tried to force his eyes to stay open. After his third huge yawn, Abby said, "Do you want me to turn it off?"

"No way. I'm waiting for Angelina Jolie to show up."

"Tony..."

"What?" He grinned. "I'm sick. I'm not dead."

* * *

When Gibbs came in an hour later, he found them both on the bed, Tony fast asleep with his head in Abby's lap. "Shhhhh," she said, putting a finger to her lips. "He's sleeping."

"Yeah, I got that from the snoring, Abs. How is he?"

Abby shrugged. "I don't know - I think he still feels pretty bad, Gibbs. He keeps trying to tell me he's OK, but..."

"But he's full of it."

"You've noticed?"

"Once or twice." He nodded towards the door. "C'mon. Take a break."

She hesitated, looking down at the sleeping Tony, then carefully extracted herself from beneath his head, tucking a couple of pillows in her place. Gibbs chuckled a little when Abby held her breath as she tiptoed to the door - if getting up hadn't woken him, Tony wasn't likely to be disturbed by hearing her breathe - then wrapped an arm around her shoulder and steered her out of the room.

"Time for the two C's," she announced as they headed down the hall. At Gibbs' inquisitive look, she clarified, "Coffee and Caf-Pow, Gibbs."

"Ah."

After a stop in the cafeteria - Caf-Pow for Abby, some substance masquerading as coffee for Gibbs - they made their way to a bench out in the hospital courtyard. It was chilly, but Abby was tired of the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, and the sunshine warmed them both as they drank. For a time they just sat, Abby nestled into Gibbs' side.

"So, Bossman," she said after awhile. "Is McGee officially in charge now?"

"Something like that." As of that afternoon, Gibbs was formally on vacation. After that ran out, though, there was no provision for official leave - nothing in the manual covered time off to care for family to whom one was not, technically, legally related. So, he and Jen had made it unofficial. Gibbs would show up at the Navy Yard when he could, but barring emergencies, the team was McGee's for the next several weeks. Between him and Ziva, with Lee TAD'd to help, things would be under control.

"When are you going to tell Tony you're on leave? He's going to figure it out, you know," Abby pointed out. "He's kinda out of it right now, but Tony's not stupid, Gibbs."

"I know he's not, Abs. I'll tell him when he needs to know."

"He's not going to like it."

"No, he's not. But it works better this way." Dr. Weiss had been quite clear about the need for someone to be with Tony as much as possible through the whole process. A "caregiver," she had called it. Gibbs had to give her credit - she hadn't been dumb enough to use that word in front of Tony. Instead, she framed it as "just someone around to help out if you need it," which had still made him bristle.

"Oh, believe me, Gibbs, I'm right there with you. We'll all help - you two will end up killing each other if we leave you alone for too long. Still, you know he's going to argue with you."

"Yep."

She grinned. "But you'll win. You're meaner."

"Damn straight."

Her smiled faded, and she set her Caf-Pow down on the bench and laid her head on his shoulder. Gibbs gave her a gentle squeeze. "Talk to me, Abs."

She was quiet for a moment. "This is really hard, Gibbs," she said eventually, so softly that Gibbs had to strain to hear her through the background noise of the courtyard. "I didn't think it was going to be this hard."

"I know," he said, wishing there were better words, something he could say to make this easier on her. On all of them. Tony had been sicker over the past few days than at any point during the long weeks of treatment. Despite still not wanting her to see him at his worst, he took enough comfort from Abby's presence that he'd finally quit fighting it. Abby meant laughter and distractions and, most importantly, the hugs and gentle touch that Tony hadn't known he needed, and that could only come from her.

But as difficult as it had been for Tony to let his guard down, it was just as difficult for Abby to keep hers up. After a couple of slips early on, she had been determined not to give Tony any cause to worry about her. Gibbs knew she still felt guilty about fleeing the room all those weeks ago, and no matter how hard it was now, she would be there whenever Tony needed her. So she had built up her own armor, doing her damnedest to be "normal" for Tony's sake, and he was afraid she was starting to reach her limit.

"He's so sick - it's hard to believe this is going to make him better. It _is_ going to make him better, right?"

"That's the general idea," he replied, hoping she wouldn't notice the lack of a direct answer.

She was too sharp for that. Sitting up to look him in the eye, she said, "He's going to be OK, right, Gibbs? Tell me he's going to be OK."

"He's going to be OK," he echoed.

Satisfied - or seemingly so - she settled back against his side. "Can we stay here for a few minutes?"

He kissed her on top of the head. "Sure."

They sat in silence, watching the people crossing the courtyard, and Gibbs hoped to hell he hadn't just lied to her.

* * *

The next week was the longest one Tony could remember. Actually, he didn't technically _remember _most of it, which as far as he was concerned was perfectly fine. It wasn't exactly something he'd want to scrapbook.

By day ten, though, the good hours (and he _was _measuring by hours) began to outnumber the bad. Dr. Weiss coming in the morning to announce that his white blood cell count had risen to 0.1 didn't hurt. "It's not engraftment yet," she warned, but she couldn't hide a smile, and Tony didn't miss it. "Yeah, but it's not zero anymore," he threw back. "So somebody in there's doing _something_." When she didn't disagree, Tony grinned. "You watch," he said. "I'll be up to 0.5 by tomorrow."

The news had energized Tony for awhile, but by the afternoon, he was once again starting to feel, well, like crap. He didn't even bother with a movie; instead, he curled up under the covers and drifted in and out of sleep, broken by the occasional snarky comment to Gibbs, just to let the boss know he was still there.

"You think McGeek scrapbooks?" Tony said, as the afternoon faded into evening. "I mean, he writes about us. Y'think he has pictures of us with stickers and stuff too?"

"If he does, DiNozzo, I wouldn't want to see what your page looks like."

"Hey, he looks up to me. He probably has a little crown on my head."

"Or a target."

"Thanks," Tony yawned. His voice was barely audible from his cocoon under the blankets. Probably he should come out now. Join the land of the living. But it was nice in here. Warm.

Out there, it was freezing. He poked his head out from beneath the covers and eyed the little door in the wall on the opposite side of the room, trying to figure out how many steps it would take to get there and back. That door opened to the warmer and the thought of the soft, cozy blankets inside overrode the little voice in his head reminding him that he hadn't been out of bed in two days.

Gibbs was a step ahead of him, as usual. Tony had barely started to push the covers back before Gibbs was on his feet. "What do you need?"

"I got it."

"You get out of that bed and I'll have the nurses tie you to it."

"Thanks for the offer, Boss, but I'm a little tired right now..."

"DiNozzo!"

He flopped back against the pillows, his head already spinning from the simple act of sitting up. Stifling the rush of frustration at his own weakness, he said, "I was just going to grab a blanket."

"Are you cold?"

_No, I was going to make a giant origami frog like they do with the towels on cruise ships. _"Aren't you? It's freezing in here. I think I saw a penguin walk by."

Gibbs frowned. Instead of getting the blanket, he leaned over and laid a cool hand on Tony's forehead before he could duck. "You're hot."

He gave his best wolfish grin, but he could tell it was a pale imitation of his usual leer. "I get that a lot."

Instead of taking the bait, Gibbs vanished from the room, returning barely 30 seconds later with Beth in tow. "He has a fever," Gibbs was saying.

"No, I don't," Tony said, even as he had the sinking realization that Gibbs was right. Very right. "I was just trying to be my own space heater, since _someone_ wouldn't grab me a blanket."

"Tony, if you have a fever, the last thing you need is another blanket." Beth stuck the thermometer in his ear before he could voice another word of complaint.

"You brought the fancy one."

"I brought the fast one," she corrected him, even as the thermometer beeped. She looked at the readout. "103.2. Yeah, kiddo, I'd say you have a fever."

"Y'think?" Gibbs said tightly. "What does it mean?"

"It could just be a neutropenic fever - that can happen when the white blood cell count is low, and they don't get much lower than Tony's. He's on a broad spectrum antibiotic, so if it is an infection we've already got something going to fight it. I'm going to call his doctor - she'll probably order some blood cultures to figure out exactly what's going on, and in the meantime we'll start trying to get the fever down."

"Huh." Tony knew on an intellectual level that this was bad. A fever was the first thing to watch for, the first sign of infection, the first indicator that something was going wrong. Yet his head had started pounding, and he was having trouble concentrating on what Beth was saying. "How do we get it down?"

"The same stuff your mom probably did," Beth said. "Tylenol and cold compresses. That usually does the trick."

Tony didn't bother correcting her theory on his mother. He just hoped they didn't need his participation. God, he felt like hell. "You...need me for that?"

He felt a strong hand on his arm. "I got it, DiNozzo."

That sounded good. Gibbs had his six. Better to just let Gibbs handle it. "Yeah. You do it, Boss," he mumbled, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. "You fix it."

_God, Tony, _Gibbs thought, watching his eyes close. _I wish I could._

_

* * *

_Someone was coughing._  
_  
The sound jarred Gibbs instantly from sleep. _That sound..._it would forever bring him to high alert, though it had been years since the horror of the blue lights and the blood. Some things, you never really put behind you.

For a split second, Gibbs thought he was having some kind of crazy, terrible flashback to another hospital, another night, another lifetime. He could see Tony trying to sit up, struggling desperately for air between incessant, wracking coughs. It had been ages since he'd had that dream...

_The lights aren't blue_.

_Shit!_  
_  
_Then he was at Tony's side, helping him sit up, and he didn't need a medical degree to hear the wetness, the rattling in his lungs as he fought for breath. Tony reached out blindly, his hand clamping around Gibbs' wrist. He was hot, far too hot, and it wasn't just from the exertion of coughing. _Fever's spiked - dammit!! _Gibbs fumbled for the call button, finally finding it wedged between the mattress and the bedframe.

"Easy, Tony," he said, trying to keep his voice low and calm, even as he jabbed repeatedly at the call button. They'd been here before - _but we haven't, not like this! _- and he fell back on the old script that they both knew so well. "One breath at a time. Slowly. C'mon." Tony managed two shallow breaths before dissolving into another fit of coughing.

_Where the hell is everyone? _Gibbs' instinct was to bolt into the hall, grab someone and get their ass in there to help, to just _do _something, but he didn't want to leave Tony alone. _What good is a goddamn call button if nobody answers the damn thing!_

"Somebody get the hell in here!" Gibbs roared. Screw the middle of the night - he didn't care if they heard him all the way down in the ER.

He could hear footsteps, blessed footsteps, hurrying toward them down the hall. Tony's eyes met his, green locked with blue.  
_  
"Boss...I can't...breathe..."_

_

* * *

A/N: Please don't kill me? I'll put my usual disclaimer here - I'm not trying to torture you guys, I swear. If you need/want to know the outcome, just PM me. I have no problem sharing._

_Otherwise...reviews are love! I swear, one day I'll stop sitting here clicking "refresh" on my inbox... ;-)  
_


	25. Undertow

_But now the current's only pulling me down  
It's getting harder to breathe  
It won't be too long and I'll be going under  
Can you save me from this?_

_'Cause it's not my time, I'm not going  
There's a fear in me and it's not showing  
This could be the end of me  
And everything I know, oh, but I won't go_

_-Three Doors Down, "It's Not My Time"_

_

* * *

  
_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs sat, head resting in his hands, and tried to figure out how things went to hell so fast.

He was the only one in the ICU waiting area, save for an elderly woman who, judging by the empty styrofoam coffee cups scattered around her, had been there for quite awhile. He'd nodded to her when he first arrived, but per the unspoken rules of the ICU, neither spoke, leaving the other alone to their silent worries.

For Gibbs, being relegated to the waiting room was not helping matters; yet he stayed, if not willingly, at least with minimal protest. They had to get Tony stable and settled and Gibbs had enough sense to recognize that he would just be in the way. After a few words that made it quite clear he was to be informed the second Tony could have someone with him, he backed off and let them work. He called Ducky, debated calling the rest of the team and ultimately decided not to worry them until he had more information, then found a spot to camp out on of the faded vinyl chairs.  
_  
How the hell did this happen? _Gibbs thought back, searching for any warning signs he may have missed. All he could see was the fever; it had been relatively high, and no one on the ward had taken it lightly, but there hadn't seemed to be any reason to panic. Tony had fallen asleep and stayed that way, and between Tylenol and cool water they'd gotten it down nearly a full degree before the evening shift changed to night. Things had seemed to be under control.

Until they weren't anymore.

_"Boss...I can't...breathe..."_  
_  
The words would be echoing through his head for days. Gibbs was not a man given to panic, but the sight of Tony struggling for air sent a jolt of fear through his gut. He forced himself to stay calm; Tony would be taking his cues from him, which meant it was Gibbs' job to leave no question that everything would be okay._

_"Yes, you can, Tony," he said firmly. He heard people enter the room, and breathed an inward sigh of relief. "Listen to me. You listening?" Tony nodded. "You can breathe. In...out...slowly now...in...out..." His voice was low, intense, almost hypnotic. Tony kept his eyes fixed on Gibbs and did as he was told. Shallow, ragged breaths, but he was breathing._

_"Agent Gibbs." Gibbs felt a firm hand on his shoulder, but shrugged it off. "Agent Gibbs, you need to leave."_

_Tony heard that, and his head snapped up. "Wait -" He choked on the single word, and dissolved into another spasm of coughs, more violent than the last._

Goddamn idiots! _Gibbs grabbed Tony's hand, squeezing it tight to get his attention. "I'm not leaving," he said, keeping that same low tone despite his urge to lay into whoever had been stupid enough to distract them. "Tony! Look at me. I'm not leaving." Tony managed a hitching breath and raised fevered eyes to meet Gibbs'. "Good. C'mon now. In...out..." Absently, Gibbs heard another, more familiar voice telling the first person to let him stay. At least someone had their head on straight around here._

_He didn't know how long they sat that way. Voices swirled around them, and he caught bits and pieces here and there. "O2 sats at 87%...temp 104.8...pulse elevated..._" _ Each time the coughing started again, Tony's thin frame shaking with the effort of trying to clear his lungs, Gibbs would stop, either patting him firmly on the back or moving aside so the nurses could get in as needed. As soon as it passed, though, he would return to the slow, steady, "...in...out...". Tony kept listening, and he kept breathing.  
_  
_Suddenly his whole body seemed to sag, and Gibbs caught him before he could fall backwards. And then he _did_ get the hell out of the way, because it didn't matter anymore; Tony wasn't conscious to notice his absence. "BP down to 80/30," someone said, and someone else, probably the resident on call (when did _he _get there?), said "we need to get him up to ICU..."_

An alarm sounded in the distance, and Gibbs started, his head jerking up to stare at the doors, the memories pushed aside for a moment. He waited, forcing himself to stay put, to not go racing back to find what the alarm was for, what was happening, why no one was telling him anything. _They'd tell you if it were Tony,_ he thought. _They wouldn't dare not to._ True or not, it helped. After a time he relaxed a little, letting his head fall back into his hands, trying to think of anything but those words...

_Boss...I can't...breathe..._

He heard the footsteps just before he smelled the coffee, and turned to see a disheveled Ducky coming toward him carrying two large cups. Wordlessly, Gibbs took one from him and drank deeply as Ducky sat down. The coffee was still hot and it burned his throat, but Gibbs hardly noticed. The two men sat in silence, Ducky wisely waiting for Gibbs to speak first; when he finally did, his voice was hoarse with exhaustion or worry or a combination of both.

"What the hell, Duck?"

Gibbs didn't seem to expect an answer, which was good, because Ducky didn't have one to give him. Not even a story of how this reminded him of a time when he was doing an internship in a field hospital in outer Mongolia or some other such thing. None of the stories he could tell involved Tony, and were therefore, right now, irrelevant.

"Jethro, can you tell me what happened?"

"Dammit, I don't know!" Gibbs realized he was raising his voice and stopped, rubbing eyes that still felt gritty with sleep. "He was running a fever when he fell asleep, and when he woke up he was coughing his lungs out and he couldn't breathe." At Ducky's gentle prodding, Gibbs recounted what he could remember of Tony's vital signs and the bits and pieces he'd heard from the nurses.

"It sounds like pneumonia," Ducky concluded, and Gibbs was momentarily envious of his friend's ability to take solace in neat, orderly science, to let the medicine take center stage. "Has anyone considered contacting Dr. Pitt?"

That, Gibbs had not thought of. "He's still here?"

"Oh, very much so, Jethro. In fact, I agreed to do Tony's annual physical on the condition that he see Dr. Pitt once a year to check his lungs. I believe he said that if he absolutely must see a doctor, it may as well be one he can have a drink with afterward."

Gibbs couldn't help a faint smile - that sounded exactly like something Tony would say. "It's a good idea, Duck. He knows Tony's lungs better than anyone."

"Precisely what I thought - his perspective would be invaluable. In the morning, we can - "

"What's wrong with now?"

"Jethro, it's the middle of the night." Gibbs gave him a look that clearly said _So what?_, and Ducky sighed. "Let's see what the resident has to say first," he suggested, just as the doors to the waiting room opened and a tired-looking figure in a rumpled white coat emerged from the ICU.

"Is Anthony DiNozzo's family here?"

Gibbs was on his feet instantly, not bothering to correct him. "About damn time," he growled. This kid was a doctor? _He looks like he should still be shaving with the safety blade on his razor. _"What's going on?"

"Well, we're not really sure yet, but the symptoms point to severe pneumonia." His words were innocuous enough, but there was something in his manner, a detachment of sorts, that Gibbs found grating.

"And when might you be 'sure'?"

"The blood cultures can take a couple of days. We started him on antivirals just in case it's not bacterial, but..."

Gibbs stared at him, eyes narrowed. "But _what_?"

"Well, cases like this..." The doctor shrugged, as if he couldn't quite tell what Gibbs expected him to say. "You know."

A deep, slow breath. "No, I _don't_ know. Explain."

"He's already immunocompromised...we'll do what we can, but you need to be prepared for the worst." He sounded like he was reciting lines, like the concept that real people were beneath the tubes and the charts hadn't registered with him. "I'm sorry."

It came off as an afterthought, and at that point, Gibbs gave up on controlling his temper. "You little son of a bitch!" _So help me, if he said any of that bullshit where Tony could hear him..._ He rounded on the man and nearly had him pinned to the wall before Ducky caught his arm.

"Jethro, don't." Ducky seemed unfazed by the doctor's comment. "You won't help Anthony by getting yourself thrown out of the hospital."

Gibbs shrugged off Ducky's hand and backed off, fuming. "For your sake," he warned, "I would strongly suggest you clarify that comment. Now."

Rattled, the doctor tugged at his coat, shuffling his feet. "I just meant that, well, his chances aren't good."

Gibbs folded his arms, still trying to keep from decking the kid. What the hell was wrong with him? For God's sake, Ducky had a better bedside manner, and his patients were dead.

"Do you have blood tests to tell you that?" There was an unusual edge to Ducky's voice.

"No." He shifted uncomfortably.

"Chest X-rays?"

"No, but statistically speaking - "

"Ah, statistics." Ducky nodded. "My boy, you would do well to remember the words of Henry Clay: 'Statistics are no substitute for judgment.'"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He means," Gibbs said tightly, "that you can take your statistics and shove them up your - "

"Agent Gibbs?" The voice from the doorway cut him off. "You can come back now, if you like."

Effectively dismissing the kid, Gibbs strode quickly back toward the ICU. "Get them to call Pitt, or Weiss, or _somebody_, Duck," he called over his shoulder. "I don't care if you wake them up. Get someone up here who knows what the hell they're doing!"

* * *

To Brad Pitt's credit, he didn't flinch when he saw Tony. For someone who hadn't seen him in awhile, it was difficult to reconcile the strong, vigorous Anthony DiNozzo with the man in the ICU bed. Even when the plague had been racing through Tony's body, he had looked healthy in comparison. But Brad was a professional, used to seeing such things...and the heads-up from Ellen Weiss hadn't hurt.

She had called at 5:30 that morning, apologizing for waking him up. Being a morning person, Brad had already been awake - in fact, had just finished a quick run - and he assured her that it wasn't a problem. He'd been more curious than anything; he knew Ellen casually, more by reputation than anything else, thought he had consulted on a couple of cases for her over the years. She needed a favor, she said, and he listened as she outlined the case. SCT patient, ten days post-transplant, moved to ICU with high fever and difficulty breathing. Low blood pressure, low oxygen sats, elevated pulse rate. Still waiting on labs, but it sounded like a clear-cut case of pneumonia.

Brad agreed. "You don't need me for that, Ellen," he'd said, leaning against the kitchen counter and pouring himself a glass of juice.

"His history makes this a bit more complicated," she had replied. "You treated him a few years ago - pneumonic plague. Anthony DiNozzo?"

The juice was forgotten. He pried a few more details out of her while pulling on some clothes, then headed straight to the hospital, arriving in the ICU a bit after six to find her at the nurse's station, examining a set of X-rays on the lightboard. He let out a low whistle. "Those DiNozzo's?"

She turned. "Afraid so. Tony never does anything by halves," she said wryly, as Brad examined the films more closely.

"You've noticed that too, huh?" Brad smiled. "When was he moved up here?

"Late last night," she said. "I just got here myself about an hour ago." She passed him a file that looked more like the white pages of the DC phone book. "Latest lab results are on top," she said.

He examined them, noting nothing terribly surprising given the circumstances, then closed the file. "Where is he?" he asked. Ellen nodded to the glassed-in cubicle behind them.

There were three people in the room, two of whom Brad recognized immediately as Agent Gibbs and Dr. Mallard. He wasn't surprised in the least to see them; in fact, he'd have surprised if they _hadn't_ been there. The closeness of that team still stuck in his mind, even years later.

The third person...had he not already known who it was, Brad would have had to look twice to realize it was Tony. It felt for a second like he'd been kicked in the chest, but he didn't let on. Instead he steeled himself and said simply, "Well then, let's go have a chat."

* * *

His lungs were going to kill him after all.

Tony would have laughed at the irony, but to laugh one had to be able to breathe, and he wasn't doing so well on that front. It had hit so fast. He'd fallen asleep feeling drained, feverish, and achy. Just another night in the funhouse. There had been nothing to hint at what was coming; no coughing, wheezing, tightness in his chest, none of the things he'd learned through painful experience were warning signs of yet another respiratory infection.

Until he woke, choking on the fluid in his lungs. That had been a pretty good clue.

The next several minutes had been a blur. He remembered Gibbs, his boss's low, intense voice stopping him cold each time the panic threatened to overtake him and forcing him to focus on moving air in and out of his lungs. He also, come to think of it, remembered Gibbs hollering at the top of his lungs for someone to "get the hell in there". Kinda reminded him of _Terms of Endearment_. He wondered what Gibbs would say if he knew Tony had cast him as Shirley MacLaine.

Although, that would make him Debra Winger. Better keep that one to himself.  
_  
_Somewhere along the way he had gone back to sleep (that must have been what it was, because _DiNozzos-don't-pass-out_) and now that awareness was slowly returning, he had no idea how long he'd been out, or even where he was. He started to speak and realized there was something covering his nose and mouth.  
_  
...the hell? _

He reached up to push it aside. "Tony, don't," a familiar voice said, and a strong hand caught his wrist. He tried to pull away - he had to get that thing off, it was smothering him - but he didn't have enough strength for more than a perfunctory tug, and even that set him to gasping. "It's oxygen, DiNozzo," the voice said, and Gibbs' face swam into focus above him. "Leave it."

"Boss?" It came out as a croak, followed immediately by a fit of coughing that made the earlier ones seem like a light tickle in the back of his throat. "Sit up," he heard someone say, and - thank God - Gibbs was there to propel him to a sitting position, because he sure as hell wasn't going there under his own steam. The oxygen mask was moved aside, and he coughed until it felt like he was about to crack a rib, like his chest was collapsing in on itself. Was it possible to literally cough up a lung?

By the time it stopped, his head was swimming from lack of air and he was starting to see black spots across his field of vision. Someone replaced the mask; far from fighting it this time, Tony closed his eyes and took a few tentative, grateful breaths of oxygen. He could have sworn he felt it flowing through his system, and he began to relax.

_Not gonna try that talking thing again for awhile._

When he finally opened his eyes, it could have been a few minutes or a few hours later - Tony had no idea. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on the figures surrounding him. Gibbs (it _had_ been Gibbs, then) with Ducky beside him, Dr. Weiss, and another, familiar face.

Tony squinted. _Is that...Brad? _He gestured towards his chin.

"No, leave it be." Brad reached to stop Tony from trying to pull at the mask. Tony swatted his hand away, then repeated the motion. "Oh," Brad said, and broke into a smile. "Yeah, the goatee. Forgot you hadn't seen that. It _has_ been awhile." Tony gave him the international symbol for _OK_. "Glad you approve. Y'know, DiNozzo, the ICU wasn't necessary. We could have just gone to play racquetball or something."

Tony's next gesture also required no translation.

Brad chuckled, then grew serious. "Tony, I've had a look at your chest X-rays, and you're on your way to one of the most impressive cases of pneumonia I've seen in a long time." Tony rolled his eyes. _Not exactly the kind of achievement I was going for. _"The verdict's still out on exactly what type, but to be honest with you, half the time we never determine the specific cause."

Tony's brow furrowed in confusion. "Then how do you treat it?" he heard Gibbs say. _Thanks, Boss. As long as you're reading my mind, could you scratch my right foot? I can't reach it. _

"Antibiotics, antivirals, antifungals, anti-anything and everything, pretty much. And I didn't say we wouldn't keep trying to find out what's causing it - it's always better if we can target the treatment directly. Especially in this sort of case - the immune response would normally play a pretty big role, but yours is still out to lunch, Tony, even if your white blood cell count _is_ going up."

His eyes widened. _Up? _he mouthed.

"Up," Dr. Weiss confirmed with a smile. "Your most recent count was 1.4. You're going the right direction, Tony. This is just a setback, OK?"

_Dammit. _Tony wished he could get more than a word or two out without hacking his brains out. Because she had never sugarcoated things for him before, and he would have loved to call her on this one. He knew damn well it wasn't a setback.

It was a race, a race between his newborn immune system - backed by an arsenal of drugs - and whatever nasty little bug had taken up residence in his lungs. If the way he felt right now was anything to go by, Tony was glad he wasn't a betting man. _But I _am_ betting_, he realized, and his stomach sank as the truth hit home.

He was betting everything.

* * *

Gibbs fidgeted with the phone in his hand, flipping it open and shut in a steady _click click._ He had to call them. As a rule (albeit one without a number), Gibbs did not permit himself to put things off. He did what had to be done, no matter how hard it was. Now that he had something to tell them, he couldn't justify keeping the rest of the team in the dark any longer.

He started with Abby, knowing that call would be the hardest one to make. After two rings, her buoyant voice echoed over the line.

"Hey, Bossman!"

"Abs, have you left yet?"

She laughed. "No, but don't worry, Gibbs - I'm about to walk out the door. I was going to come over on my way to work - there's not much going on this morning. Want me to stop for your coffee on the way? Do you think Tony wants anything? Is he awake? I could maybe bring one of those pastries he likes, see if he's up to eating anything -"

"Abby, listen to me."

She stopped. "Gibbs?"

"Abs, Tony was moved to ICU last night. He woke up with a fever and some congestion in his lungs," Gibbs said, in what he figured had to be the understatement of the century. "Most likely pneumonia."

"Oh my God! Is he OK? Of course he's not OK, Abby - stupid question, you're not in the ICU if you're OK - the ICU is for when you're the exact _opposite _of OK. But is he...I mean...oh, _shit!_"

"He's as OK as he can be. Dr. Weiss is already here, and she's called Dr. Pitt as well."

"Brad? Right...okay, that's good. Nobody else knows those crazy lungs like he does. Can I talk to him?"

"To Pitt?"

Abby sighed impatiently. "No, Gibbs - to Tony."

Gibbs closed his eyes, not sure how to tell her that Tony wasn't exactly up to a phone conversation. "Why don't you see him when you get here, all right?"

She was silent. Gibbs wondered if maybe he had made a mistake, if he should have waited until she arrived and told her in person. But he'd had no idea when she would be coming, and calling to check...well, she would have known something was up.

"Gibbs." He could hear the catch in her voice, the sob threatening to break through. "It's really bad, isn't it."

He couldn't answer her; didn't know how. "Stay put, Abs," he said. "I'll come get you."

"No way!" He could practically hear her shaking her head on the other end of the line. "Uh-uh, Gibbs. Don't you dare leave. Tony needs you there. I'm fine. Tell him I'm coming, OK? Promise you'll tell him?"

"Yeah, Abs. I'll tell him."

"I'll see you in a half hour. Or maybe twenty minutes, I can probably make it there in -"

"Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"Seat belt, red lights, speed limit. Or else I_ am_ coming over there."

"Right. See you in a half hour, Gibbs."

He hung up, shaking his head, and noted the time on his cell phone. Then he flipped it back open, and dialed the next number on the list.

* * *

_A/N: Thank you guys so much for the awesome response to the last chapter! As Abby says, I'm hugging you all in my mind.  
_

_I actually hadn't planned on bringing Brad Pitt in until I started writing this chapter, but it saved me from introducing yet another OC, as Dr. Weiss wouldn't handle someone with Tony's history w/o bringing in a consult. At least, I don't think she would. Plus, he asked nicely, so... ;-)  
_

_The next chapter is already partly written, so I'll try to get it up ASAP!_


	26. Fading

_It's alright,_  
_This could be a rough night._  
_So hold tight,_  
_This is not a fair fight. _

_ -The Fray, "Fair Fight"_

* * *

Gibbs snapped the phone shut for the last time, then deposited it in his pocket. He'd said the words three times and he could still taste them, bitter in the back of his throat. _Tony was moved to ICU last night._ Wasn't giving bad news supposed to get easier the more times you repeated it?

Ziva and McGee were on their way - in fact, he'd actually heard Ziva getting into her car before they were half done with their conversation, peppering him with questions that he barely managed to respond to before she let the next one fly. He'd briefly considered giving her the same warning he'd given Abby, but decided to save his breath. Besides, he wasn't completely certain Ziva had ever actually used her seatbelt in the first place...

And then there had been McGee, with just as many questions that Gibbs couldn't answer. He'd been getting frustrated by that point; when they had been about to hang up and McGee slipped in one last "Um, Boss?", he'd snapped "I don't know, McGee!" with such force that he almost apologized. Almost.

McGee had taken it in stride. _Probie's getting tougher,_ Tony would have said. "I was just going to ask - do you need anything?"

It had caught Gibbs off guard. "Do I what?"

"I just figured, you've been there since yesterday. Is there anything you need? Clothes or something? So you don't have to leave."

The words nearly undid him. Gibbs sank down on the arm of the vinyl chair, feeling suddenly very tired. He'd been about to refuse, when he remembered the number of times he'd cursed a blue streak - usually in his head, occasionally out loud - when Tony wouldn't accept even the smallest offer of help. _Never ask your people to do something you wouldn't do yourself. _"Yeah," he finally said. "That'd be good, McGee. Thanks. Door's unlocked."

Now, the phone weighing in his pocket, he walked back through the ICU to Tony's cubicle. Tony looked to be asleep when he came in, but Gibbs could tell he was awake, just too exhausted to do anything about it. Still, Gibbs stayed as quiet as possible as he sat, elbows braced on his knees, and studied Tony's face. Dark shadows circled his eyes, and the paleness of his skin emphasized the livid red of his cheeks, testament to the fever that still burned through his body. And was he imagining things, or was there a tinge of blue to Tony's lips? It was the oxygen mask, he decided. Or a shadow from the monitor. Or a trick of the light.

_Don't you do this to me, DiNozzo. Not like this._

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there when he heard a voice. "Agent Gibbs?" One of the nurses stood in the doorway. "There's a young lady in the waiting area asking for you."

Gibbs nodded. "Tell her I'll be right there."

"Abby?" Tony spoke for the first time since Gibbs had come in.

"Probably."

Tony sighed. "You called them?"

"Nope. Sent smoke signals."

"Boss, you really gotta work on your fear of technology." Even stringing together such a brief sentence had left him needing to catch his breath.

"They'll want to see you. You up for it?"

"Sure. Gonna be boring, though."

"I don't think they're expecting a one-man show, DiNozzo." Gibbs stopped, suddenly reluctant to leave him.

Tony sensed his hesitation. "Better go, Boss. Abby's gonna storm the barricades."

As Gibbs left, he realized that Tony never had opened his eyes.

* * *

The entire team was in the waiting room by the time Gibbs emerged from the ICU. Abby was pacing, high-heeled leather boots clattering on the tile floor, but as soon as she saw Gibbs she came straight to him. "Gibbs," was all she could manage. He pulled her close, resting his chin on her head as she buried her face in his chest, allowing himself to take a bit of comfort even as he gave it.

"How's Tony?" McGee was sitting beside Ducky, a cloth duffel bag at his feet.

"He's stable," Gibbs said, trying to keep his voice neutral. They were looking to him for information and for reassurance, and he didn't know how much of either he could provide. At the very least, he could keep from making things worse.

"'Stable' does not tell us much, Gibbs," Ziva said. She was leaning against the wall, arms folded, apart from the rest. To Gibbs, she looked both worried and as though she were itching to lay into someone, anyone. He knew the feeling.

"Well, that's pretty much what it boils down to. He still has a fever, his breathing isn't great, but he's holding his own."

"Boss, do they at least know what's wrong? I know you said pneumonia, but there's so many things that could cause it."

"They're still trying to figure that out, Timothy," Ducky said. "Testing, unfortunately, takes time; in the interim, he's being treated with broad-spectrum medications to cover the most likely possibilities."

"Can we see him?" Ziva asked.

"Two at a time, no more than ten minutes," Gibbs said, quoting the ICU visiting rules. Just because _he_ didn't exactly follow them didn't mean they didn't have merit. "Ziva, McGee, you two go on back. He knows you're coming." He'd half-expected Abby to protest, but she remained silent and still at his side, watching as a nurse met Ziva and McGee at the doorway to lead them through to Tony.

"Abs?"

"I'm fine, Gibbs."

"Uh-huh." He waited, but she didn't say anything else, and he frankly didn't have the energy to pry it out of her. Now that the adrenaline rush of the past several hours was subsiding, he was beginning to feel the weight of sheer emotional and physical exhaustion. He settled for putting an arm around her, figuring she'd tell him when she was ready. Abby thrived on words and hugs, and he knew that when one failed her, the other became even more important.

She still hadn't spoken by the time Ziva and McGee returned the mandated ten minutes later. They both looked shaken, but McGee offered Gibbs and Abby a tremulous smile. "Let's go, Abs," Gibbs said, but she didn't move.

"Gibbs," she said, looking up at him. "I don't know if I can do this."

He started to reassure her, tell her of course she could, she'd _been_ doing it all along, but McGee beat him to it. "Yes, you can," he said, crouching in front of her. "It's still Tony."

"I know, but..."

"Abby, he called me Elf Lord, McWorrywart, and told me I really needed to go outside more often because _he's_ in the ICU and I'm _still _paler than he is. Trust me. It's still Tony."

She managed the smallest of laughs, and let McGee pull her to her feet. Gibbs gave McGee a grateful look as he followed her through the door.

Abby's new-found bravado lasted until they reached the doorway of Tony's cubicle. Gibbs heard her suck in a breath and felt her tense at his side. He cursed himself for not doing a better job of preparing her - he'd tried, but there was only so much he could do. Gibbs had been with Tony the entire time, and he still had trouble believing how ill he looked compared to just the 24 hours before. To Abby, the change would be even more shocking.

She didn't stop, but she also couldn't keep a few tears from escaping, and she wiped them furiously away as she went in. Tony smiled when he saw her and patted the space beside him. Seeing her hesitation, he said softly, "You won't hurt me, Abs."

She sat down and tried to return the smile, but it was shaky at best. "Tony..."

"Hey." He reached out to touch her damp cheek. "There's no crying in baseball."

"Too easy," she replied. "_A League of Their Own_. Tom Hanks and Geena Davis."

"And Madonna. Don't forget Madonna."

She sniffed, finally smiling for real. "I used to have black lace gloves like the ones she wore in _Who's That Girl_."

"Used to?"

"Jethro ate them when he was staying with me last month. Before my landlord kicked him out."

Tony looked up at Gibbs. "Boss, what'd you do to get kicked out of Abby's place?"

"The _dog_, DiNozzo."

"I knew that."

They stayed a bit longer, but Tony was tiring quickly, and by the ten minute mark he was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open. "Time to go, Abs," Gibbs said.

"I'll see you later, Tony," she said, getting up carefully so as not to jostle him too much. Tony smiled and lifted his hand in a gesture of farewell, but didn't speak. Air was fast becoming a precious commodity.

Gibbs placed a warm hand on her shoulder as they walked down the hall, and she made it all the way to the waiting room before finally giving in to the tears.

* * *

Morning slipped into afternoon, and the sun was sinking low in the sky by the time Gibbs and the rest of the team finally left the ICU. Abby, Ziva, and McGee had spent most of the day in the waiting room, making brief visits to Tony when the clock and the nurses permitted. Gibbs had resumed his post in the chair beside Tony's bed; the staff had long since given up on trying to make him leave, and whenever Tony's rasping breaths gave way to wracking coughs, they found that Gibbs' presence actually helped to keep the younger man calm and the episodes to pass more quickly.

On her last visit, Tony had grabbed Abby's hand when she stood up to leave. "Abs," he said softly. Gibbs usually would have pegged it as a teasing whisper; over the course of the day, though, talking had become increasingly difficult as Tony fought harder for breath. "Take the boss...downstairs and feed him...would ya? You know how...he gets when his...blood sugar's low."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs warned.

"See? Cranky."

"C'mon, Gibbs," Abby said. "Tony's right. You need to eat." He let her drag him down to the cafeteria, picking up McGee and Ziva on the way, and the four of them spent an interminable hour picking at their food. Gibbs mostly nursed his coffee and listened to the others' silence, their usual banter absent. None of them were really hungry, and when Gibbs finally got up to place his nearly-full tray on the belt, the others followed with a palpable sense of relief.

Ducky had stayed with Tony while Gibbs ate, or what passed for eating. When the ME met him outside Tony's cubicle, Gibbs had confirmation that the churning in his gut was not just too much black coffee on an empty stomach. "What is it, Duck?"

"He's not doing well, Jethro," Ducky said bluntly, knowing Gibbs would appreciate the honesty. "He's beginning to show signs of hypoxia – somnolence, confusion. Dr. Pitt is waiting on some additional lab results to check his blood gases, but he indicated that we may need to consider more intensive respiratory support."

Gibbs closed his eyes briefly, letting the words sink in. _More intensive respiratory support_ - medicine really did have a euphemism for everything. He kept his voice low, so Tony wouldn't hear. "And what do you think?"

"Jethro," Ducky sighed. "The tests are a formality at this point. Tony's lungs simply aren't able to oxygenate his body properly on their own - you can tell that by looking at him. All the blood gases will do is tell exactly how much we need to compensate for."

It was exactly what Gibbs had feared he'd say. "Understood, Duck. Tell Pitt to let me know as soon as he gets the tests back."

"Of course," Ducky said. He patted Gibbs on the arm as he left – the only one who could get away with such a gesture. Gibbs watched him go, then looked through the doorway at Tony. The bluish cast to his lips was no longer something that could be passed off to poor lighting, and Gibbs knew that if he looked down, he'd see that Tony's nail beds had taken on a purple hue as well. Ducky was right; his body was starving for oxygen.

Tony looked up as Gibbs came in. "Boss?" He spoke the word tentatively, testing his lungs to see if they would let the little puff of air through without rebelling. His voice sounded hollow, muffled by the mask, but the coughing fit he feared didn't come. "Where...?"

"Still the ICU, DiNozzo."

"Oh. Right." Tony was quiet while he digested that information. He remembered now. It didn't surprise him. His chest tightened, and he squeezed his eyes tight against the pain, willing his lungs to cooperate, just for a little while, just long enough for him to rest. Amazingly enough, they obeyed, and he returned his concentration to breathing. _In and out._ Two such simple words, ones that carried so little meaning most of the time.

Until they suddenly meant everything in the world.

"Boss?" he managed. "You...thinking what...I'm thinking?"

"That depends," Gibbs said. "If you're back on Megan Fox and hot fudge, then hell, no."

Tony smiled faintly. "Not...your type...not a...redhead..."

"Less talking, more breathing."

_He makes it sound so easy_. "No...suicide gene...this time, Boss."

Gibbs was silent for a moment, and Tony knew that they had, in fact, been thinking the same thing. "You better not be quitting on me, DiNozzo."

"Not...up...to me..."

"The hell it isn't." The words didn't surprise Tony, but the vehemence behind them did, as though Gibbs was taking it as a personal insult. Gibbs had never understood the concept of giving in gracefully, Tony thought. Until now, neither had he.

"...Abby here? …tell her...something…" His chest felt like it was in a vise, and Tony stopped and closed his eyes again, putting all his focus into breathing. He could feel it, whatever _it _was, attacking his body, zeroing in on the fragile, scarred tissue of his lungs. It was moving fast, so fast, and he had nothing left to fight it with.

"She'll be back later - you can tell her when she gets here."

Tony shook his head weakly. Later seemed a very, very long way away. "...too...tired..."

"Hey!" He felt Gibbs' hand connect with his head, gentle, yet still somehow firm. "You can be tired later, DiNozzo. Right now, you fight, or you answer to me. You got that?"

"Got..gotcha..."

"Good." The same hand came to rest on his shoulder, like a blessing. They sat like that for awhile, breathing in tandem, both focusing again on the in and the out.

"Boss? If I can't...'m sorry..."

"Dammit, DiNozzo - you keep apologizing and I swear I'll…" Gibbs trailed off, unable to finish his usual warning.

Tony heard the roughness in his voice, and corner of his mouth quirked in a smile beneath the mask. "Yeah, I...know...Boss. Love...you too." He expected a derisive snort, or at the very least a chuckle, but when neither came he risked a glance at Gibbs. He was watching Tony with an unreadable expression - or maybe, Tony realized, he just didn't want to read it. When Gibbs caught his eye, though, his face softened, and he gave a slight nod.

_Don't get all sappy on me_, Tony wanted to say, but he started coughing again – more of a choke than a cough, really, a friendly reminder from the crap in his chest that it was there and it wasn't going away. Once again, he felt Gibbs' strong hands lifting him, supporting him. The fit was short-lived; as quickly as it started, it stopped, his body simply lacking the energy to keep trying to clear his lungs.

He closed his eyes as Gibbs moved the mask back in place over his nose and mouth, begging his lungs to accept some of the sweet oxygen, just a little, just enough to hold back the blackness at the edges of his vision. Gibbs tried to lower him back to the bed, but he shook his head, hoping he would understand. Laying down made it even harder to breathe, if that was possible. He must have made his point, because he felt the bed move beneath him, and when he was eased back this time he was still almost sitting up.

It didn't help much - each breath still felt like he was trying to suck oxygen through a straw - but it was enough that the sensation of suffocating subsided a bit. "Better?" Gibbs asked. Tony nodded, but didn't open his eyes. He heard footsteps enter the room, then Brad's voice: "Agent Gibbs? Can I speak to you for a moment?"

He felt Gibbs hesitate beside him. "Go..." Tony said. "Not going...anywhere. Promise." Gibbs said nothing, just gave his shoulder a quick pat before he left. Tony listened to both sets of footsteps die away, then returned to his mantra.

_In...out..._

_

* * *

_

_A/N: Chapter 27 will be posted tomorrow._


	27. Hope

_A/N: I went into this knowing as much about respiratory illness as I do about the NASA space shuttle. I did as much digging as I could, but it's possible that my understanding is still approximately at the level of a reasonably intelligent chipmunk. Please take any obvious errors with a grain of salt._

_I've been lucky enough to have Kylen's talented eye, not to mention moral support, helping me through the story as a whole, but she was especially instrumental to getting this chapter done and posted. Thanks a million times over!!_

_This one's a little on the long side, but I didn't want to split it up. So grab some hot chocolate (or bourbon, if you're currently in a basement with a boat) and settle in. :-)_

_

* * *

_

_Everybody's got a hold on hope  
It's the last thing  
That's holding me._

_-Guided by Voices, "Hold on Hope"_

_

* * *

_

"No." Tony's voice, weak though it was, left no doubt that he was serious.

Gibbs suppressed a sigh of frustration. He'd known Tony would respond this way - defenses up at the first hint of what Brad wanted to do. "Tony -" he began, but Tony stopped him.

"I said...no. No way."

"Tony," Brad sat so he could look Tony straight in the eye. "It's not heroic measures. It's not life support."

"Don't...bullshit me!"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped. "It's not what you think. Shut up and hear him out."

"It's a BiPAP - completely non-invasive," Brad said. "No one's going to stick a tube down your throat. All we're doing is giving your lungs some extra support so that they have a chance to heal, and getting you on it now makes it a lot more likely that will happen."

He shook his head. "Had the damn...plague. Didn't...need it then."

"Yes, and you weren't going into the plague with scarred lungs and no immune system, and coming off of a couple months of chemo. Your body is exhausted - you need the rest, you need the oxygen, and you _don't_ need to be struggling to get it."

Tony wanted to believe him. He was so sick he could barely think straight, and from the way the room was starting to swim he knew his fever was up again. All he knew was the very word - _ventilator - _smacked of desperation, of last resorts. If there was something he was missing, great, but there was no way in hell he was going end up tethered to a machine for... He looked up at Gibbs, mutely pleading with him to understand.

Gibbs did understand. They'd talked about it before - formally, the first time, when Gibbs took over Tony's medical power of attorney. It had come up one time since then, though; one of those things that stayed beneath the surface, out of mind, except for the times during long hours of surveillance when late nights and little sleep had the tendency to loosen tongues. He knew what Tony wanted, even if right now he wished like hell he didn't.

"I won't let that happen, Tony." He spoke firmly, clearly, giving no indication that it was one of the hardest things he'd ever said in his life. But it was all he needed to say; most of the tension drained from Tony's face, and he nodded wearily. No arguing, no double-checking, no "you promise?" Just a nod.

"Good." Brad stood. "Let's set it up."

It only took a short time to get Tony on the BiPAP machine. Fists clenched at his sides, he fought back panic as the mask was placed over his nose and mouth, the fit then carefully checked to make sure the tight seal allowed no air to escape. Gibbs said nothing, just put a hand on his arm, and each time it became too much and he was sure he was smothering, suffocating, he could feel Gibbs' hand grounding him, pulling him back.

Eventually, though, the bliss of not having to fight for air outweighed the stifling discomfort of the mask. His body finally relaxed, Tony fell asleep to the rhythmic _hiss-release_ of the machine.

_Boss...I'm trusting you..._

_

* * *

_Gibbs ventured out of the ICU again around midnight, ostensibly to get more coffee, but mainly to get out of the dim room and move around a bit. Unlike the chair in Tony's room on the oncology floor, the ones in the ICU were not conducive to long stretches of sitting. Gibbs wondered fleetingly if they were designed to be uncomfortable, to cut down on the number of people attempting to overstay their welcome. Whatever it was, the damn thing was hell on his back.

He headed straight through the waiting room to the elevators. The figure curled up on the chair in the corner was lost in shadow, and he would have missed her completely had she not called his name.

"Gibbs?"

He turned. "Abs? I thought you went home hours ago."

"I did. I came back."

"Yeah, I can see that," he said with a faint smile. "Any particular reason?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, I just kept getting this really hinky feeling, like I should be here. I tried to ignore it, but you always say you should go with your gut - I mean, I don't have the famous Gibbs gut or anything, but sometimes I get this kinda squinchy sensation, right around here?" She gestured vaguely to her abdomen. Gibbs wasn't about to ask what 'squinchy' was. "Anyway, I came back." She looked up at him. "Tony's OK, right?"

"He's OK." And he _was -_ it wasn't a lie, although the definition of "OK" seemed to be shifting by the hour.

"Can I see him?"

He paused just a little too long before answering. "He's sleeping, Abs."

It was too late - he'd left the tiniest opening for doubt, and she saw it immediately. "Gibbs, what aren't you telling me?"

He thought quickly. "You can see him, but come downstairs with me for a few minutes first."

"Why?" Her eyes narrowed. "Gibbs, you're freaking me out here. I thought you said he was OK."

"He is." He sighed, realizing that attempting to evade her was not helping matters. Easing into the chair beside her, he wracked his brain for the right words. The original plan had been for Brad to explain it to the team in the morning - Gibbs wasn't about to try to walk through the medical details, at least not without expert backup. But he knew Abby well enough to know she wouldn't take _wait _for an answer. Especially when it concerned the health of her best friend.

_She's a big girl,_ he told himself. _She can handle it._ And she could. The trouble was, Gibbs didn't want her to _have_ to handle it. He wanted to take her and put her back in that elevator where she'd hidden from that psycho stalking bastard, and keep her there until all this was over. He wanted, as he always did, to protect her. And he couldn't.

_And maybe_, he realized, _I shouldn't._

She was looking at him warily, but under it lay the utter trust she always displayed in him. It was that trust that made the decision for him. She trusted him to keep her safe, but she also trusted him to tell her the truth. He wouldn't betray either one if he could help it.

"Tony _is_ OK. His breathing was getting worse, so Dr. Pitt put him on a BiPAP machine for a couple of days to try to give his lungs a break."

"A BiPAP. A vent?" She stared at him, wide-eyed. "Are you trying to tell me Tony's on a ventilator?"

"Abby, it's only for a few days."

"How do you know that, Gibbs? You can't know that for sure!"

_Actually, I can.._ He wasn't about to explain that now, and while he tried to figure out what he _could_ say, she hit him with one straight out of left field.

"Gibbs, is Tony dying?"

The words hung in the air like smoke, impossible to ignore, filtering into the ether until everything nearby was permeated with it.

"I don't know, Abs."

It wasn't what he wanted to say. He ached to assure her that Tony would be fine, this was just a setback, just like Dr. Weiss had said, and a couple of days of antibiotics would have him good as new and back down on the oncology floor, flirting with the nurses and bitching about being bored.

_Truth, Jethro. Tell her the truth. _

So he did. He fixed her with a steady gaze and told her the truth as he knew it.

"What I do know," he said, "is that Tony's stubborn as hell. He's been through things that should have killed him, _would_ have killed most men, and he came out on the other side joking about it. Odds and statistics and all that crap don't seem to mean much when it comes to him." He sighed. "Abs, I don't know what's going to happen. But I _do_ know that if there is a chance in hell of beating this, Tony will be the one to do it."

He meant every word of it, and saying it aloud only convinced him further that he was right. Tony was exhausted; he was scared; he was understandably shaken. Yet Gibbs knew, he _knew_, that Tony had enough fight in him to get over this last hurdle. They just had to make sure that Tony knew it too.

Abby nodded slowly. She was on the cusp of believing him, but there was something else there. "What is it, Abs?"

"It's just...I've never seen Tony like this. _Ever._ Even after Hannah Lowell went all Stephen King with her SWAK - I couldn't see Tony until he was out of isolation, and by then, he was so much better. I've never, ever seen him this sick. Not even close."

"I have." The aching memory of blue lights stung at Gibbs, but he kept going. "And he got through it." He reached out, tipped her chin up so she was looking straight at him. "Abs. He got through it."

"Yeah." She nodded slowly. "Can I see him? Just for a few minutes?"

Gibbs hugged her to him. "Yeah. C'mon."

Unlike the rest of the hospital, the ICU was fairly active at night. The lights were dimmed, but enough patients needed close monitoring that nurses were in and out much more often, and the plethora of monitors added a strange, syncopated beeping to the background hum. They reached Tony without being stopped, and Abby stepped into the room.

In here, the beeping of the monitors was supplemented by the rhythmic hiss of the BiPAP. Abby took in the sight - the wires, the leads, the tubes, and finally, the mask, hiding half of Tony's face behind a mass of plastic. For a second, Gibbs thought she was going to freeze right there in the doorway.

"Gibbs, he hates masks. He _hates _them."

"I know. He'll put up with it. He's OK."

"How do you know? Did he tell you that?"

"Not exactly - he can't talk with the mask. But he got the point across. More or less."

"But he can't talk? Like, at all?"

"No. Not with the mask on." She took a slow, shuddering breath, and at her next words, Gibbs grinned. _That's my girl_.

"I guess," she said, "I'm just going to have to teach him to sign."

* * *

Both doctors, Pitt and Weiss, had been careful to emphasize that finding out the cause of Tony's pneumonia would take time - if it could be determined at all. Between the sheer number of possibilities and the length of time it would take to run the tests, they were best off treating generally and aggressively, and consider being able to target the treatment a bonus. So when Brad came into the waiting room the morning of Tony's second day in the ICU, none of the team was expecting much in the way of new information.

As Abby already knew about the BiPAP machine, Gibbs hadn't seen the point in waiting on Brad to tell the others. At least he had Ducky to answer the more technical questions when he explained the situation to Ziva and McGee. He'd seen the question in their eyes that Abby had asked out loud, and done his best to reassure them, much as he had her. There was only so much he could say, though, and they had hit a lull when Brad slid into a seat alongside the group. "We've got it."

"You've got what?" Brad looked almost as tired as they felt, Gibbs thought, but he also looked oddly…triumphant? _Could that be right? _

"We've narrowed down the cause of the infection," he said with a weary smile. "Looks like RSV - respiratory syncytial virus."

"RSV?" McGee said. "Isn't that something kids get?"

"A common misconception, Timothy - it can develop at any age, although it usually causes a very mild illness in older individuals. It can be quite severe in children, however. I remember a particularly nasty winter when I was working at a clinic in Dubai -" Ducky caught Gibbs' glare, and stopped short. "Yes, well - as I was saying, it can be severe in children, but also in adults with compromised immune systems."

"Like Tony," Ziva said.

"Exactly. He normally could have fought it off, but without an immune system, and already weakened lungs - hell, he may as well have put out a welcome mat. Bug's an opportunistic little bastard," Brad said, half to himself. "We're lucky, though."

"Lucky? This must be a definition of luck I am not familiar with," Ziva muttered.

"Well, relatively speaking." Brad admitted. "First, it could be identified by rapid antigen assay, so we're not stuck waiting for cultures. Second, he's already on antivirals, but now we can target the treatment - combination of IVIG and aerosolized ribaviran."

"What are you waiting for?" Abby said. "Hook him up!"

"We already have, Abby," Brad said. "Now we just need to hope we caught it in time." None of them had to ask what he meant by that, and none of them wanted to hear it voiced. "We do have one piece of very good news, though. I spoke to Dr. Weiss about an hour ago. Tony's white blood cell count is up to 4.3. As far as the transplant goes, he's doing remarkably well."

It was good news - none of them could deny that. But they also couldn't ignore the fact that the success of the transplant wouldn't mean a damned thing if the infection in Tony's lungs couldn't be controlled.

"Dr. Pitt?" McGee said. He sounded tentative, and he looked around at the others as if he expected them to try to stop him from asking the question. "What...what are his..."

"Chances?" McGee nodded. "I don't look at it that way. There's just too many variables - not the least of which is Tony himself. And let me tell you, he's surprised me before." He stood to leave. "All of you - try to get some rest," he said. "We're treating as aggressively as we can. Other than that, all we can do is wait."

"And hope," Ziva said, so softly that Gibbs couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it.

* * *

And so the waiting began. As hours bled into days, the pneumonia continued to ravage Tony's already weakened body. He was asleep more often than not, and when he was awake, he was, as Abby put it, "seriously out of it." News, when it came, was encouraging - or so Gibbs was told. Tony's blood gasses were improving. His viral load was dropping. His white blood cell count was continuing to rise. All good things, to be sure. Yet when he looked at Tony, tossing in restless sleep, the fever still raging, the tests didn't mean a whole lot.

Most of the team came and went. Gibbs aside, they were all still technically on duty, and while Jenny was more than willing to be flexible, they quickly found that working alleviated some of the frustration of the wait. They trickled in and out, popping in for a quick few minutes on the way to the office or over lunch, then spending entire evenings in the waiting room, taking their allotted ten minutes and returning to the vinyl chairs for another hour's wait. Eventually, as the hour grew late, they left, going home to their own beds and their own broken sleep, ready to start the whole thing again in the morning.

Gibbs, though, did not leave. McGee brought him clothes; he showered in a random locker room he'd found; he ate whenever he happened to remember, which wasn't often. And sleep...Gibbs found early on that the ICU was not conducive to sleep. For Gibbs, it wasn't the beeping of the machines that kept him up. Nor was it the constant activity, or the occasional frenzied rush of medical personnel converging on a patient when some monitor somewhere showed something horribly wrong.

For Gibbs, it was the breathing. He knew, between the vent, the monitors, and the nurses, there were more than enough people keeping an eye on Tony's breathing. It didn't matter. He slept in snatches, sometimes for as much as an hour or two before he would wake in a panic, his eyes darting to Tony's chest, his own heart pounding, and it wasn't until he saw the steady rise and fall of the blankets that the rush of adrenaline would begin to ebb.

Another day was fading into night when Ducky finally had enough. "Jethro."

"What?" Gibbs' voice was hoarse with lack of sleep, and he looked up to see Ducky watching him with concern.

"Perhaps," Ducky said carefully, "it's time you took a short break."

"Thanks, Duck, but I'm fine."

"Jethro -"

"I said, I am _fine._"

Ducky sighed. "May I speak to you for a moment?" Gibbs hesitated. He had a pretty damn good idea of what Ducky wanted to "speak" to him about, and he wasn't interested.

Ducky, though, was clearly not about to drop the issue. After five minutes of trying to pretend he couldn't feel the older man's eyes boring into the back of his head, Gibbs finally got up and stalked wordlessly past him out to the main waiting area. Thankfully, it was deserted. "What is it, Duck?"

"Jethro, when was the last time you went home?"

"I don't know. A couple days ago. Why?"

"It's been five days," Ducky said gently. _Five days? That's impossible._ But was it? Time seemed to run together in this place, slipping past in a never-ending stream of doctors, vital signs, lab reports, all accompanied by the steady thrum of the hissing ventilator and the word, repeated again and again: _Wait._

"OK, five days," Gibbs said, masking his surprise at the realization. "If you knew, why did you ask?"

"Because I didn't think _you_ knew. And I was right."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Jethro, you need to go home. You aren't sleeping, you're living on black coffee - "

"I always live on black coffee."

"Not like this. How do you expect to help Tony if you don't take care of yourself?"

Gibbs tried to hide his frustration. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine." He made to leave, to go back to Tony's cubicle and his post by the bed, but Ducky's voice stopped him before he'd gone two steps.

"You know, I've been meaning to speak to the nurses about that ten minute visitation rule. It concerns me that they've been somewhat lax in enforcing it - have you noticed that?"

He turned slowly, not sure he was hearing him right. "Are you threatening me, Duck?"

"Do I need to, Jethro?"

Anyone else would have been taking their life into their hands attempting such a thing. As this was Ducky, Gibbs simply fixed him with the look that his team called The Stare. It had broken suspects, whipped wayward agents into line, and cowed men who outranked him a dozen times over. Ducky had seen it many times before, and he wasn't impressed. They stood there for a long moment, in a stalemate.

"Dammit, Duck!"

"Jethro. Go home."

His jaw set, Gibbs yanked his car keys out of his pocket and strode past Ducky. The ME held out his jacket as he passed (and didn't _that_ just add insult to injury?), but he ignored it. Rather than wait for the elevator, he hit the stairwell, and the last thing Ducky heard were his footsteps echoing down the stairs as the door slammed shut.

* * *

Something was tickling his ear.

His senses were returning slowly, and he was really only half-awake when he became aware of the annoying sensation at the side of his head. It felt like a feather, or a rush of air. Or maybe a fly. _Wasn't there an old lady who swallowed a fly? I think she died._ Whatever it was, it was getting on his nerves. He lifted a hand - or rather, he thought about lifting a hand, and then waited patiently while the sluggish synapses in his brain sent the "contract muscle" message to his arm. Evidently these messages were traveling by turtle these days. Eventually, it got the point, and he managed to swat at the source of the tickle.

The tiny yelp woke him the rest of the way. He opened his eyes just in time to see Abby jerk her head up from beside his, hand over her nose. _Abs? Oops_.He tried to say "Sorry," but the mask over his face reduced it to a barely audible mumble.

As it turned out, Abby didn't seem to mind. She just stared at him, a grin crossing her face. "Tony? Are you awake? Like, really awake?" Not waiting for a reply, she jumped up and ran out to the nurses' station. "I think he's awake," he heard her telling someone.

_Oh, yeah. Definitely awake_. And now that he was, he kind of wished he wasn't. His head was throbbing, his muscles ached, his chest was on fire, there were tubes places he did _not_ want to think about, and that damned mask was still on his face. He heard the hiss of the ventilator somewhere nearby and stifled a groan. He'd really hoped that part was a dream.

Abby came back, practically dragging the nurse with her. He didn't recognize the nurse, but she smiled when she saw him. "Welcome back, Tony," she said.

_Did I go somewhere? _

"Tony, you're drenched," Abby said, coming over to his side. "Lydia? Is he OK? He's soaking wet."

"Looks like his fever's broken," the nurse said. She placed a thermometer in his ear (_what is it with you people and my ears?)_ and when it beeped, checked the readout. "Yep. 100.8."

Abby squeaked - literally squeaked - in excitement. Tony could tell she wanted to throw her arms around him, but a) he was surrounded by tubes and wires and God-knew what else, and b) he was sweaty as hell. She settled for grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight as Lydia checked the rest of his vital signs. "OK, Tony," she finally said. "That can't be comfortable. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I'll be back as soon as you're done," Abby said. She gave his hand one last squeeze before disappearing down the hall.

Tony turned his attention back to Lydia, who was pulling a clean gown and sheets from a cart. "This won't take long at all," she said, bringing them over to the bed. He wanted to tell her he could do it himself, but...well, frankly, he couldn't. He'd never really understood the phrase "weak as a kitten" until now. Turned out it was a pretty apt description; even sitting up was far more than he was ready to attempt.

True to her word, ten minutes later Lydia had Tony settled in a fresh gown between soft, clean sheets. It wasn't his Ohio State t-shirt, but it would do, he thought, as Abby came back in. She was toting a pad of paper and a pen, and she presented it to him proudly as she sat down. "It's so you can talk. I mean, sort of talk, since you can't really _talk_ talk. So this is like pseudo-talking. Or - I know it was a long time ago, but remember I taught you a couple of signs? Do you remember any of those?"

He was getting tired just listening to her. Weakly, he lifted a hand and tried to form it into something resembling one of the shapes he remembered.

She winced. "Did _I_ teach you that? Oh. Right. I guess I did. Uh, Tony, don't use that one, at least not unless you're trying to really, really piss someone off. Maybe we should just stick with the paper."

She started to hand him the pad and pen, but he shook his head. He hated to admit it, but just getting changed and resettled had completely exhausted him. Thankfully, she seemed to understand. "Gotcha. Go back to sleep, Tony. I'll be right here." He nodded, already drifting off again.

That was how Gibbs found them when he returned. Both were sleeping, but Tony actually seemed peaceful, a far cry from the agitated, feverish sleep of the past several days. And Abby...

Gibbs smiled, shaking his head. With all of the medical equipment, she couldn't actually get on the bed with Tony. She'd compromised, in true Abby fashion, by pulling the chair up as close to the bed as possible, then tucking her legs underneath her for extra leverage. By shoving herself all the way against the side of the chair, she was able to lean over far enough to rest her head and shoulder on the side of the bed, right next to Tony's head. She looked completely happy, but Gibbs did not even want to consider what her neck - or her legs - would feel like when she woke up.

As he watched, Tony's eyes opened, quickly coming to rest on his boss. For the first time in days, his gaze was lucid, the fever-brightness gone. Even in the dim light, Gibbs could clearly see a faint smile behind the mask.

"About time you woke up," he said. Tony fumbled for something beside him, coming up with a pen and a pad of paper. It took a second, but he managed to scribble something down and held it out to Gibbs.

He took it to see two words, written in a shaky hand:

"She snores."


	28. Release

_We break_  
_And we bend_  
_Turn it inside out_  
_To take it back_  
_To the start_  
_And through the rise and falling apart_  
_We discover who we are _

_ -Lifehouse, "Who We Are"_

* * *

Six weeks.

Hospitals, Tony had found, made it all too easy to lose track of time. Dates bore little meaning amid the endless stream of days spent within the same sterile walls, and one season moving into the next was significant only insomuch as the view from the window changed. He had been admitted just as fall reached its peak, leaves swirling amber and ruby beneath the shedding trees, the sagging faces of rotting Halloween pumpkins still littering the occasional porch. Thanksgiving, all bare branches and bitter wind, had slipped by when he was in intensive care. Suddenly, it was a few days before Christmas, the halls of the hospital decorated with garland, colorful cards taped to the walls beside the nurses' stations, and the view from his window sparkled with tiny lights.

He counted again. Six weeks.

It should have been "a few." Three, maybe four tops, or so Dr. Weiss had said way back when. He couldn't hold it against her, though. None of them had factored in a ten day detour to the ICU, a full week of that spent on a BiPAP, and a good bit of _that_ half-conscious and burning with fever. Follow it all up with a couple weeks of painful, yet all-too-familiar respiratory therapy, slowed by a body still fighting to recover from chemo, and six weeks became an entirely believable sum.

Tony traced a finger along the window, his chest tightening as new memories of fighting for air blended with the old. Turned out horror didn't require blue lights after all. He'd tried to make light of it, once he was conscious and breathing and could do so without unduly tempting fate. He did his dead level best to play his usual role, make his jokes, coax smiles from Abby. In that glass-walled box, though, where there was no such thing as privacy and simply rolling over set off some alarm and brought three people running, even he lost the rhythm of it now and then.

_"Ziva told me this thing makes me sound like Dark Vader," Tony said, handing Abby the mask from the BiPAP to investigate. He was back on a nasal cannula, at least during the day, and he was nearly giddy with the freedom of not having to choose between breathing and speaking. "I thought McGeek was going to wet his pants - desecration of Star Wars is a Federal offense in his book."_

_"Be nice, Tony," Abby swatted him on the shoulder, and he laughed._

_"Careful, Abs - I'm a sick man."_

_She stiffened, the lighthearted mood evaporating. "I know."_

_"Abby?" _

_"You almost died, Tony."  
_

_"If I did, I totally got gypped. No bright white light, no out-of-body experience. I didn't even see my dear, sainted grandmother, may she rest in peace."_

_"It isn't funny!" She turned to face him and Tony was surprised to see that her lip was trembling. _What the... _She'd been fine not 30 seconds ago. "You could have died."_

_"But I didn't." Tony reached out and gently removed the mask from her grip. "I'm going to be fine."_

_"Right." She seemed to check herself, quickly plastering a smile on her face. "It's all gonna be OK."_

_Tony sighed. "C'mere, Abs." He reached out, and she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest, gingerly avoiding the remaining tubes and wires. Neither spoke, because really, what was there to say? Throughout his entire treatment, Tony had been well aware he was fighting for his life, but the abstract had come far too close to reality over the past few days. For all of them._

_"Abs?"_

_She sniffed. "Just...just don't you ever scare me like that again. Ever. You got it, Mister?"_

The last bit had been a get out of jail free card, and he'd gladly played it, assuring her again that there was no way anything really bad could have happened. She'd smiled, and she'd nodded, and by unspoken agreement neither had mentioned her damp cheeks or the mascara smudged on the front of his gown.

Outside the window, light snow was beginning to fall. Tony rested his forehead against the cool glass, watching the flakes drift lazily beneath the streetlights. He wondered if Gibbs would think to bring his coat. He wondered if it would still fit. He'd lost enough weight that most of his clothes wore him these days, rather than the other way around. He'd make a great runway model - weren't they really just walking clothes hangers?

_Didn't you know? Armani's going for the chemo chic look, now that heroin is SO five minutes ago._

He'd braved a look in the mirror yesterday. A real one, not the usual quick glance out of the corner of his eye. He'd forced himself to stand there, beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the tiny bathroom, and finally _look_ at himself. Why, he still couldn't say. Glutton for punishment, perhaps. Or maybe, he just needed to be sure he was still there.

And he was, though it took him a few very painful minutes to realize it. At first, all he could see was how much he'd lost. His hair, of course, though it was slowly growing back. Weight - too much of it. He'd been proud, once, of his finely toned athlete's body; now the outline of his ribs showed clearly beneath thin, fragile skin. There were other changes, less quantifiable, but somehow even more profound for it. The weary set of his shoulders; the way he moved, tentative, uncertain, as though he had to second guess his own body. He didn't need to speak of his recent trip to hell and back. It was written all over him.

_Temporarily_. That thought, that realization, was what led him to square his shoulders and turn away from the mirror, a hint of his old smile ghosting at his lips. It was temporary, all of it. He could say that now, and not just in the soothing tones he used to encourage Abby on one of the bad days, or with the fake enthusiasm he gave Dr. Weiss to assure her that yup, he was coping just fine, just gotta ride it out, right? He could say it for real.

He was going home.

Or at least, he was going to Gibbs' house, which was close enough. After the past few months, his boss's place was starting to feel more like home than his sleek, GQ-ready apartment ever had. He needed to do something about that. Get some squishy pillows, maybe, and one of those funny little knit blankets with all the holes. It still might not really feel like home - he was starting to think that maybe home wasn't a _place _at all - but it would be a start.

No matter what he did, though, he would still have no room for a boat. Just as well. Boats led to bourbon and hand tools and the next thing you knew you were running around laced in sawdust and headslapping the bejesus out of everyone. _Although, it _would_ be nice to be the slapper rather than the slappee for a change._

As it had before, Tony had a sneaking suspicion that going home with Gibbs was letting him escape the hospital slightly earlier than if he'd been on his own. He hadn't quite believed it when Dr. Weiss told him he was being discharged - she'd said it so casually, he'd thought she was joking at first:

_"What do you say to going home tomorrow?"_

_"I say it's not nice to tease. I just got used to giving this out as my permanent address."_

_"I'm not teasing, Tony. Your blood tests look excellent. You've sailed through respiratory therapy."_

_"I've had a lot of practice. And Angie is very good." Tony was torn between a grin and a wince at the thought of Angie. __His respiratory therapist was young, blonde, and cute. She also had no problem kicking his ass if she thought he was slacking. "__You should probably give her a raise."_

_"For putting up with you? Brad said the same thing." Tony rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He could see Brad saying exactly that - and he was probably right. "__But that cough's on its way out, and your lung function looks good. And most importantly..." She paused, smiling, and Tony could guess what she was going to say. Someday, when this was all over, he really needed to have a chat with her about her poker face, or lack thereof._

_"You got the other tests back?"_

_"We got the other tests back," she confirmed. "Bone marrow, PET scan, biopsies. No sign of lymphoma anywhere." Tony closed his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. The relief was enormous, all-encompassing. No lymphoma. No cancer. It was the last major hurdle: the new stem cells were engrafted and working, and he was still in remission._

_If DiNozzos cried, he might have been tempted. Instead, he settled for nodding and grinning like a complete idiot. _

_"So, as long as you're feeling up to it, I don't see any reason not to send you home."  
_  
_"I'm feeling fin_e,_" Tony said automatically, and was pleasantly surprised to realize it was almost true. He was still frustratingly weak, but finally had enough energy that he was starting to climb the walls from boredom, and while everything still tasted oddly metallic he could eat more than Jello without wanting to throw up._ _He wasn't quite up to pizza yet, but it was only a matter of time until he was back to his usual pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese._

_"Then I'll start the paperwork," Dr. Weiss said. "We'll go over the details tomorrow - I assume you'll be staying with Agent Gibbs awhile longer?"_

_"That's the plan." There hadn't been much question of where he would go. He'd put up a token protest, as he always did; Gibbs promptly shot it down and then turned Abby loose on him. One day, Tony would have to compliment his boss on his skill in recruiting Abby to do his dirty work._

_"It's smart, Tony - you're doing great, but things will still be a little rough over the next couple of months. It won't hurt to have someone else around."_

_He shrugged, brushing it aside. They could address that question later - for now, he had more pressing concerns. "When can I go back to work?"_

_Dr. Weiss laughed. "One thing at a time."_

_"That is one thing!" He gave her his most charming smile. "C'mon, just part-time?"_

_"Let's get you through the holidays first. Then we'll talk."_

_Seeing that he wasn't about to get more out of her, Tony capitulated. New rule, he thought to himself: Do not piss off the woman writing your discharge orders._

"Tony!!!!" The voice, bubbling with excitement, startled him from his thoughts. He spotted Abby just in time to brace himself before she tackled him in a hug; even so, he was knocked off balance and barely managed to keep from smacking his head against the window.

"Um, Abs? Can't...breathe..."

"Oh, God! Sorry!" She let go and backed up, her dark eyes darting over him in search of damage. "Are you OK? I didn't hurt you, right? Are your lungs OK?"

"Yes, Abs, my lungs are fine," he said, trying to hide the slight wheeze in his voice.

"OK, good. I don't want to screw anything up. Gibbs is parking the car - I made him let me off out front so I could come up, 'cause we were already late - I swear, you'd think none of these people had ever seen snow before, traffic was so nuts." Stopping for air, she hugged herself in glee. "I can't believe you're going home!"

"Shhhh!" He put a finger to his lips. "Don't jinx it - we're not in the car yet."

"OK, OK." She grinned at him, reaching up to rub a gentle hand over the dark stubble on his head. "It's getting longer," she said.

"Better than the alternative," he replied. He'd gotten used to Abby petting him since his hair had started to make a reappearance. At least she hadn't started scratching him behind the ears.

"It looks good."

"It's practically a crew cut, Abs. I could never be a Marine - nobody looks good with hair like this -" He froze, then winced. "He's behind me, isn't he." _How the hell does he _do_ that?_

"Uh-huh." Gibbs sounded amused, and Tony turned to see him leaning against the door frame, a half-smile on his face.

"Uh, I didn't mean nobody, Boss. I'm sure you looked great with hair like this. I mean, not to say that you don't look great now, but -"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs sighed. "Put the shovel down."

"Right. Shutting up, Boss."  
_  
_Gibbs had remembered his coat after all - a pile of finely-worsted grey wool was folded over his arm, and he laid it across the bed as he passed. "Got everything?"

"Everything worth keeping," Tony said. It was hard to believe that after so long, everything could still be distilled into a single duffel bag, though it was quite a bit fuller than when he'd arrived. The extra space was taken up by a handful of cards, a twin for Bert that Abby had had waiting in his room when he returned from the ICU, and two pairs of fuzzy socks from Ziva, who had said his toes looked cold. When he'd asked her (with an admittedly lascivious grin) why she was looking under the blankets in the first place, Ziva had shown him exactly how the fuzzy socks could double as a convenient way to pad one's fist when inflicting blunt force trauma.

"Transport's out in the hall," Gibbs said. "You ready?" He started to reach for Tony's duffel, then stopped, reminding himself that Tony was perfectly capable of carrying his own bag.

"I was ready weeks ago, Boss." Even as he said the words, Tony found himself wondering who had stuck the lead weights into the bottom of his shoes. He forced an easy smile, hoping that neither Gibbs nor Abby picked up on the fact that he wasn't exactly racing towards the door. He _was_ ready. More than ready. He was packed. He'd said goodbye to Beth and Alicia, and the other nurses. He had his prescriptions, his list of appointments for the next few weeks, his discharge papers. He had his fuzzy socks.

He glanced out the window; the snow was falling faster, now, and for an instant the world he'd hungered to rejoin for six long weeks loomed huge, threatening, beyond the glass. Cramming his hands into his pockets, he rocked back a bit on his heels, trying to quell the rush of nerves. _What the hell is wrong with you, DiNozzo? Do you WANT to stay here?_

Of course he didn't; otherwise they would be moving him up to the psych ward on the fifth floor. His fingers found an old gum wrapper in his pocket and he worried it absently, eyes flitting around a room that suddenly seemed very sterile. He knew damn well Dr. Weiss wouldn't be sending him home if she didn't think it was time. In fact, since his lungs had decided to sign him up for the Club Bethesda extended stay package, his blood counts were higher than most people's at discharge. It was just that...well, suddenly germ-phobic Jardine didn't seem _quite_ so crazy.

Gibbs had no trouble spotting Tony's uneasiness, mostly because it mirrored his own. After too many sleepless nights wondering if they would be able to bring Tony home at all, there was a small part of him that wanted to keep him here, where there were people to fix the things Gibbs couldn't. In his too-big sweatshirt, chewing on his lip, Tony looked young, vulnerable, the flat grey-green of his eyes revealing that he still wasn't up to par. Yet no temporary fragility could hide the man that was still Gibbs' senior field agent - was, and would be, the one person he trusted to have his six.

_You can't put him under glass, Jethro_. _It wouldn't be Tony if you did. _

"Then let's go home." Picking up Tony's coat, he brought it over and held it out. "Cold out there," he said as Tony took the proffered coat and shrugged it on. "Hat's in the pocket."

"Did you bring my mittens on a string too?" Tony grumbled, but he pulled the knit cap out of his pocket and tugged it down over his ears. Once he was sufficiently bundled, Abby wrapped an arm around his waist, beaming up at him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were excited about this, Abs," Tony said, tugging affectionately at a pigtail. For once she had no words, just squeezed him tight. He picked up his bag, then took a final look around. With Abby's warmth tucked against his side, and Gibbs waiting in the hall, the room that had seemed safe just a moment ago now threatened to suffocate him. _To hell with it_. He'd never lived life playing it safe, and he wasn't about to start now.

Gibbs poked his head back in the door. "We goin', or were you planning on spending Christmas here?"

"Dunno, Boss," Tony said. "Santa's coming tomorrow and Beth said he usually brings his elves. Can you beat girls in green spandex and tights?"

Abby was the picture of innocence. "How about guys in green spandex and tights?"

Tony winced. "I think we can go now." With Abby snickering beside him, they followed Gibbs out to the hallway.

None of them looked back.

* * *

_A/N: Wow...I can't believe this is almost finished. Probably one more chapter to go after this, depending on how long-winded I get. ;-)_

_Huge, giant hugs to all of of you who've been reading and alerting and reviewing and all that good stuff!!! This never would have gotten so far without your encouragement, and I can't say thanks enough! _


	29. Bounce

_A/N: OK, I lied - one more chapter and an epilogue, tag kinda thing. ;-) I'm posting them both at the same time, though. As a few people have suggested, I wrote the end of this leaving a possibility for a follow-up piece. That wasn't my original intent, but it's become very clear that there is enough to Tony's recovery for it to be a story in itself. In fact, I think to do it justice it would _need_ to be its own story, and I would love to write it in the (not so distant) future. For now, I tried to simply capture a sense of what he had to go through in order to make his way back. Hopefully it will work. :-)_

_Finishing this feels huge, simply because I've never finished anything close to this size before. Thanks, again, go especially to Kylen for essentially ending up being my beta! Any mistakes, as always, are mine._

_Writing this has ended up being an amazing experience - I've learned so much over the last several months. The support and encouragement so many of you have given a new fic writer has been incredible. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you've enjoyed reading this half as much as I've enjoyed writing it, then I've succeeded more than I could have hoped. :-)_

_

* * *

Our lives are made  
In these small hours  
These little wonders,  
These twists & turns of fate  
Time falls away,  
But these small hours,  
These small hours still remain_

_-Rob Thomas, "Little Wonders"_  


_

* * *

_

If the transplant itself was a birthday, then it was only fitting that the next months were filled with firsts. Not the kind that might be immortalized on film or noted in a diary; in fact, not even things that might normally merit a second thought. But for Tony, they were each one more step back towards the elusive world of 'normal'.

There was his first night back in his own apartment, in his own comfortable king-size bed with the down comforter and perfectly squishy pillows. A few days after that, there was his first night _alone _in his own apartment, having finally convinced Abby that he would be fine by himself and really, she would have to stop sleeping over at some point.

There was the first time they ordered pizza and the smell of his beloved cheese, sausage, and pepperoni didn't turn his stomach. He ate himself sick that night and maintained that it was worth every last bite. There was the first time he ran a mile and didn't feel, at the end, as though an elephant were standing on his chest and his legs were about to fall off.

There was the first long, hot shower where he didn't have to be careful of the Hickman line in his chest. Having it removed had felt just as strange as having it put in, but he'd expected that. What he hadn't expected was how long it would take before his fingers stopped drifting to his collarbone of their own accord, before he stopped feeling the momentary jolt of worry when it wasn't there and he tried to figure out what the hell had happened to it and how painful fixing it would be.

Before any of it, though, came the first time that Tony realized just how arduous a journey he faced. They had all warned him. Dr. Weiss, the nurses, some of the other patients Tony had met - all of them had tried to tell him what to expect. He'd listened half-heartedly and with his usual skepticism, sure they were simply trying to prepare him for the worst case scenario. He'd gotten through the chemo, through the transplant, through the nasty little virus that had threatened to make all the rest of it a moot point. It had to be downhill from here.

It had taken him nearly two weeks to understand how things were going to be. At first, he was able to convince himself that the lingering weakness and exhaustion would be short lived. Christmas Day may have passed in a series of catnaps, curled up on the couch with Abby and drifting in and out amid Ducky's stories and the tail end of "It's a Wonderful Life," but that was surely just a fluke. And the walk around the block for 'exercise' that he'd barely made it through? Must have been a long day.

It wasn't until he found himself standing at the bottom of the staircase one night, wondering who had added extra steps to the damn thing and how, exactly, he was going to get to the top, that it hit him. He had been home for two weeks, and he was barely at the beginning of the transition from sick to well. Leaving the hospital had not brought the miraculous restoration to vigorous health that he hadn't even realized he was counting on. This, this slow, painful struggle for every modicum of improvement - this was reality.

And when Gibbs found him awhile later, sitting on the bottom step with his face buried in his hands, he didn't say a word. He simply helped Tony to his feet and put an arm around him when he faltered halfway up the stairs. He pretended not to notice the younger man's red-rimmed eyes, and if he spoke a bit more softly, if his hand lingered a little longer than usual on Tony's shoulder as he pulled the blankets up - well, perhaps he was just getting old.

That was when Tony understood: The return to normal was not a sprint. It was a marathon, and he had barely left the starting line.

Marathon or no, from the very beginning his team made it clear that he was not running alone. At first, when it still took all his energy to go through the motions of a single day, it was Gibbs who was there the most. Tony hated every damn day that his boss was on leave, hated it all the more because he had no valid argument against it. Things like driving to and from the hospital, cooking for himself - those first few weeks, he simply could not do it on his own.

Yet even after Gibbs returned to work, Tony knew perfectly well they were all still keeping an eye on him. Ziva would drop by with an entirely-too-healthy lunch, or McGee would just happen to show up as Tony was going out for his daily walk. Abby, for her part, never bothered with pretense - she informed him flat-out that she was coming over to check on him and he had damn well better be where he was supposed to be and doing what he was supposed to do. Tony was never quite sure what the consequences would be if he wasn't, and truthfully, he didn't want to find out. One did not mess with Abby, even a worried Abby. _Especially_ a worried Abby.

It was two months before he was ready to come back on desk duty, and one month more before he could do so full-time. Being back helped, but still there were times when Tony was sure he had had enough, when the pain and the exhaustion and the sheer frustration over the _slowness_ of it all were more than he could take. His ingrained response was still to handle it himself, and probably always would be - it was simply more comfortable to duck behind a smile and a joke and just try to deal. He had learned, though, that swallowing his pride and talking it out wasn't quite as painful as he'd always thought. More and more, he found himself perched on a stool in Abby's lab, letting her listen to him bitch while she ran her tests, or griping to Gibbs with the full knowledge that his boss would kick his ass if that was what he needed.

Over four long months, Tony worked furiously to regain what he had lost. His weight, his muscle mass, his stamina - he was surprised to find that those were the easy things, relatively speaking. Harder to recapture were his confidence, his independence, his surety of step and his easy laugh. His ability to wake up in the morning thinking of something other than blood tests, and to fall asleep at night without wondering if tomorrow would be the day when it all fell apart. Those things returned more slowly; yet even as he started feeling more like his old self, he knew that until the others stopped seeing him as sick and started seeing him as just plain Tony, normal would remain beyond his grasp.

In the end, then, those were the firsts that let him know that things would eventually be OK. The first time he took McGee down in the ring. The first time he took Ziva down in the ring. (He still hadn't gotten Gibbs, but that was expected - he was prepared to devote a good year to that one.) The first time they quit pussyfooting around and took _him_ down.

The first time they ordered Chinese and no one said a word about vegetables and a balanced diet - Ziva even stole his eggroll. The first time Abby glared at him for forgetting her Caf-Pow. The first time he coughed and wasn't immediately met with three worried stares.

The day before he was due back on full duty, he got his first headslap that was delivered full force by a thoroughly annoyed Gibbs. No light tap, no split-second hesitation, just a good old wallop to the back of the skull. It stung like hell, and no one could quite understand why he walked around with a satisfied grin for the rest of the day.

Had they asked, he could have explained. Sometimes, normal simply meant being able to piss off your boss.

* * *

The day he'd waited for for months ended up feeling like any other slow morning in the bullpen; by the time Tony arrived, the rest of the team was settling into another long session of paperwork and cold cases. He tried to ease around the corner without being noticed, just in case Gibbs decided to get cranky about the fact that he was two minutes late, but Ziva spotted him just as he slid into his chair. "Excited, Tony?" she asked with a knowing smile.

Caught, he turned to face her. "What makes you say that, Ziva?"

"You're bouncing. Like Tiger."

"Tigers don't bounce, they pounce."

"No, this one bounces. The one with the coiled tail, friends with a bear, yes?"

"You mean Tigger?" McGee asked from his desk.

"Yes! Tigger."

Tony kicked back in his chair. "Well you know the most wonderful thing about Tiggers, don't you, Ziva?" At her inquisitive look, he grinned. "I'm the only one."

"Thank God," Gibbs said without looking up.

"I think Gibbs is the Heffalump," Tony said in a mock whisper, opening his backpack and pulling a sheaf of papers from the top.

Ziva frowned. "What is a Heffalump?"

"It's a -"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked. "You got something for me?"

"Oh yeah, Boss." Tony hopped up and went around the desk to hand Gibbs the stack of papers. He'd picked them up from Dr. Weiss's office yesterday, and was half tempted to have them framed. Who knew six little words could be so beautiful? _Approved for return to full duty_. "Got 'em right here. Signed, sealed, and delivered."

Gibbs looked up. "If you tell me you're mine, you're doing inventory in the evidence garage for the next week."

"What if I sing it?"

"Autopsy too. Including the corpses."

"Gotcha, Boss," Tony said ruefully. Gibbs hid a grin as he turned back to his desk, setting the papers carefully to one side. Tony had looked like a little kid presenting his parents with a report card full of A's. And why shouldn't he? Gibbs knew as well as anyone how hard Tony had worked to get this far. He still wasn't completely up to speed - according to his doctors, that could take up to a year - but he looked more himself today than Gibbs had seen him in...well, longer than he cared to remember.

"Tony!!!" They heard Abby just in time to see her tear across the squad room and launch herself at Tony. "You're back, you're back, you're back!"

"I've been back for two months, Abs," Tony said with a laugh as he disentangled her arms from around his neck. "I was down in your lab yesterday. Remember? I even helped you do that...whatever that thing was we did, with the ballistics gel and the firecrackers."

"Uh..." Abby dropped her voice. "That wasn't exactly 'official,' technically, completely, so..." Tony made the requisite sign for zipping one's lips, and she nodded in satisfaction. "Besides, you know what I mean. You're back for real! Like, completely, 100% back. Out in the field, grab-your-gear back. The kind of back where -" Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, no!"

"Abby? What's wrong?"

"Now I have to worry about people shooting at you again." She sighed. "Are you sure you don't need just a little longer?"

"No!" McGee and Ziva said in unison.

Tony turned to see the two of them staring at Abby as though the very idea was horrifying. "Awwww." A warm little glow washed over him. "See, I _knew_ you guys missed me out there!"

"Of course we did, Tony," Ziva said quickly.

"It has nothing to do with not wanting to listen to you - ouch!" McGee rubbed his arm and bent to pick up the rubber band Ziva had shot at him. "What was that for?"

"I am too far away to kick you."

Ignoring them both, Abby gave Tony one more hug. "I gotta go see what my babies have for me, but come down later if you want, OK?" She eyed McGee and Ziva in turn. "You two - keep an eye on him."

"Abs, I don't need..." It was too late - she was already disappearing around the corner, leaving Tony objecting to thin air.

Not even a worried Abby or a seemingly-endless stack of paperwork could lessen his excitement for long, though. Tony settled back behind his desk, pretending to concentrate on the file in front of him, but he was filled with nervous energy and his leg kept bouncing beneath his desk. It wasn't like he was _wishing_ for a case, exactly - after all, that would generally mean that someone had been kidnapped or shot or murdered or something equally horrific. Maybe they could get a nice, simple armed robbery - no injuries, just something to get them all away from their desks...

"Grab your gear! DC Metro just pulled a body out of the Potomac - looks like one of ours."

Tony's head flew up as Gibbs hung up the phone and pushed back from his desk. This was it. He had expected to be as nervous as a rookie cop, but he wasn't. Instead, finally unlocking the drawer and pulling out his badge and gun felt like coming home. The noise of the squad room washed over him, and he closed his eyes for a second, drinking it in. He was back. He was ready. He was -

"DiNozzo!" Tony started. Gibbs was standing in front of his desk. "You need a personal invitation?"

"Nope!" McGee and Ziva were already waiting, and Tony picked up his backpack and jumped up.

"Good. Gas the truck." Gibbs tossed the keys to him.

Tony snatched them neatly from the air, turning on his heel and throwing them to McGee in one smooth motion. "Hey, Probie!"

Startled, McGee reached out but the keys flew right through his fingers. "Tony, what're you doing?"

"Delegating, McGoo."

"Delegating?"

"Yes - since I'm back on full duty as Senior Field Agent, my time is better spent doing other things."

"And what might that be?" Ziva asked.

"Uh...Senior Field Agent duties, Zee-vah. You'll learn someday, when you're ready. It's a big responsibility."

"Remind me again why we missed him?" McGee grumbled, stooping to pick up the keys.

"My crack investigative techniques? My mad crime scene sketching skills?"

"No," Ziva said, pretending to look thoughtful. "That's not it."

"My charm? My sense of humor? My rugged good looks?"

"Write your personal ad on your own time, DiNozzo." Gibbs stopped beside Tony. "You sure you're ready for this?" he asked softly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Positive. I'm fine, I swear."

Gibbs nodded. "Then get moving before I let Ziva drive."

He watched Tony jog ahead of him to the elevator, nudging his way in between McGee and Ziva. Gibbs followed, absently feeling around in his bag, then froze when his hand closed over a well-worn ball cap. He'd found it laying on the dresser weeks ago, and had stuck it in his bag to return it but had kept forgetting.

He nearly pulled it out now, but stopped when he looked back at the elevator. Something Ziva said had made McGee flush bright red, and he could see Tony throw back his head in real, honest laughter, the sound carrying all the way across to where Gibbs still stood. Fingers tracing the 9mm hole in the brim, he could almost hear Tony's voice: "Don't think I need that anymore, Boss."

_No, Tony_. Gibbs smiled to himself. _No, I don't suppose you do._ He shoved the cap back down in his bag, and headed to the elevator to join his team.


	30. Epilogue: Clear

Tony pushed open the front door of the hospital and stepped out into a cloudy afternoon. It was chilly for the time of year, and he broke into a trot as he crossed the parking lot on the way to his car. His test results were tucked safely in the inner pocket of his jacket. Abby would want to see them.

"You're clear." It was the same thing Dr. Weiss had said each month for almost a year now, with her usual warm smile as she handed him the printouts with all the right numbers in the right spots. The first month she'd walked him through each test, explained what they meant, how they all came together to indicate that he was still in remission. No cancerous cells; no hot spots on any of the scans; none of the markers that could point to a tumor too small yet to see. After that first time, she simply told him he was clear. He knew what it meant.

At least, he thought he did. Clear could mean so many things. Pure. Easily seen. Distinct. Free of something - of blemish, of confusion, of darkness. It came alongside words like bright, and clean. It found its way into idioms: Crystal clear. Clear as day. In the clear.

To a special agent, clear often meant safe. A clear building; a clear scene. It meant no one with a weapon was waiting just around the corner. It meant someone had your six, and you had theirs. It meant it was okay to keep going and maybe, even, relax your guard a little.

Yet every last one of them knew that clear was never a guarantee. There were too many variables. Too many possibilities for hidden dangers - explosives, sniper fire, idiots who were just too damn good at keeping out of sight. Clear could only mean that at that moment, you were as sure as you could be of making it through to the next obstacle.

That kind of clear, Tony could understand.

And for him, month after month, clear did not mean it was over. It would never be over, not really. Remission was one thing, but it would be years before the word _cure_ would be uttered, and then only tentatively, in passing, as though saying it too often or with too much confidence would make it less likely. Until then, there would be more tests, and more waiting. More wondering if the reprieve was only temporary, if the whole thing was about to start all over again, all the worse this time for knowing what lay ahead. And even if, years down the road, he was finally given the coveted title of _cured_, what he had experienced had changed him. For better or worse, or maybe some of each - he didn't know. Like so many things, that, too, remained to be seen.

Tony slid into his car and slammed the door against the cold. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he touched the corner of the folded paper. _Clear. _ He thought of lowering the gun, of taking another step. Of knowing that, for the moment at least, he was safe. Of knowing that people he trusted were behind him.

Clear.

He could work with that.


End file.
